


Consort

by sneetchstar



Category: Emerald City (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9594155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: Dorothy joins forces with the Witches and discovers her new calling in Oz.  Originally inspired by the promo pics for episode 1x06.





	1. Chapter 1

“Is he your consort?”

Mistress West’s question rings through the silent chamber. It is a simple question, yet on her lips, it drips with implications.

“Um… yeah, I guess,” Dorothy answers, glancing at the still-unconscious Lucas, bound to his chair, the metal cuff still around his neck.

West led her to the chamber minutes earlier, and when Dorothy had rushed to her unconscious… friend? would-be-lover? and gasped his name, West’s head cocked to the side, eyebrow raised, lips thoughtfully pursed.

“He claims to have no memory of his past,” West says, choosing not to pursue the curious nature of this girl’s relationship with the guard.

“That’s true. He doesn’t,” Dorothy answers, her eyes locked on his bowed head as she gently runs her fingers through his hair. “Why is he still chained?”

West impatiently huffs, then waves her hand. The shackles fall away from his hands and the cuff around his neck opens. Dorothy quickly reaches down and catches it before it can fall onto his lap. She sets it on the ground.

“He _claims_ he wants no part of whoever he was,” West continues, beginning to pace. “He _claims_ he wants to be… what did he say…?”

“The man he is today,” Dorothy softly provides, wrapping her hands around one of his.

“You genuinely care for each other,” West says, sounding mildly surprised. Dorothy hasn’t taken her eyes off of him since she entered the room, only paying attention to West when she directly addresses her, and barely even then.

At this remark, Dorothy lifts her head and looks directly at the witch. “Yes.”

“And the girl?”

“What about the girl?” Dorothy blandly responds, returning her attention to Lucas. “Wake up, Lucas,” she whispers.

“Who is she?”

“We don’t know. She found us and kind of… adopted us, I guess. She’s just a scared little girl,” she lies, hoping West won’t catch her this time because her face is pointed at Lucas. “Don’t hurt her or Toto; they’re innocent. Neither of them have done anything to merit any sort of punishment, so just… leave them alone,” Dorothy pleads, her voice much stronger.

Lucas begins to stir, a soft moan escaping. Dorothy drops to her knees beside him and urgently whispers his name.

West steps closer, watching with undisguised interest.

“Dor…” Lucas mumbles.

“Lucas, I’m here,” Dorothy says, raising her hand to his cheek. He is dirty and bloodied and God knows what else, but appears to be alive and whole.

“Dor’thy,” he slurs, his deep voice husky.

“I’m here, I’m here… they’re not going to torture you anymore,” she says, turning her head to shoot a brief glare at West.

The witch raises her hands in a gesture of surrender, her face a picture of innocence.

His eyes slowly blink open, blue-gray and sleepy under his thick brows. They gradually focus on Dorothy’s face, and he says her name again.

She lifts up and kisses him, her hands holding his face, as a few tears escape. His hands come around her waist, pulling her closer, his fingers tightening in the fabric of her shirt as the kiss deepens.

“I thought… I thought I’d never see you again,” he says once they part.

“I guess it’s not that easy to get rid of me,” she replies, resting her forehead against his.

Suddenly his eyes widen. “Where’s Sylvie?” he asks, clearly very concerned.

“The girl and the dog are safe and unharmed,” West answers.

Dorothy jumps, nearly having forgotten the witch was there. “She was sleeping in my room when I left her,” she answers.

“Alone?”

“Toto is with her.”

Lucas relaxes. “All right.” Then he looks up at West. “What are you going to do with us?”

“Do? That depends on you,” West says. “Your witch has made her choice… she has chosen to side with us, to fight the tyranny and ignorant fear of the Wizard’s rule.”

“Witch?” Lucas asks, looking at her. “So… you’ve accepted it then?” he asks. He knows what he saw in East’s fortress and has known since then that his Dorothy is some kind of witch, whether she believes it or not.

Dorothy makes a gesture somewhere between a shrug and a nod. “Not much choice… too many weird things are happening around – and to – me to deny it any longer.”

“And what is your choice? Will you remain at her side, or return to the Wizard’s Guard?” West asks.

Lucas looks at her, surprised. “I get a choice?”

“Of course. Everything in life is a choice,” she answers. “You may not remember how you wound up strung up like a scarecrow, but it was your choices that led you there.”

“I will stay with Dorothy,” he immediately answers, the reminder of his forgotten past making his decision that much easier for him. He turns his gaze back to her, reaching up to brush her hair behind one ear. “For as long as she will have me, I will stay by her side. Protecting her.”

“Very well, Ro—”

“Lucas,” he growls, cutting the witch off. “My name. Is _Lucas_.”

West’s lips curve into a crafty, knowing smile. “Very well, _Lucas_ , you will remain as Mistress Dorothy’s consort and protector.”

His brows furrow a bit at the term ‘consort’, but he nods. “Thank you.”

“Now. Before we proceed, you must be cleansed. Sanctified,” West says. “Both of you.”

“Both?” Dorothy asks, standing. She is still holding Lucas’ hand, and supports him as he shakily rises to his feet.

“Yes. You are both filthy and need purification,” West answers, striding to the door. She yanks it open, then yells, “Tip!”

While they wait, Lucas pulls Dorothy into his arms, resting his head atop hers, as they prepare to face the next step of their journey. Together.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have chosen to use male pronouns for Tip, as he currently identifies as male, according to the official Emerald City Twitter.

The purification ceremony was actually not as pleasant as it sounded.

It was rather grueling, especially for the already-exhausted Lucas.

Dorothy and Lucas knelt on the stone floor what felt like hours, until they could not longer feel their knees, while Tip poured water over them for most of the ceremony.

Cold water.

West hovered around the edges, speaking in strange tongues, occasionally joining them, pressing their foreheads together, making a rather intimate, if strange, tableau.

In the end, Dorothy couldn’t quite say she felt “purified”, but she was a bit cleaner.

Cleaner, but dripping wet and shivering.

“All right, that’s sorted,” West announces at the end of it, with a tone that suggested that they had just been doing something rather mundane. “Who’s hungry?”

Lucas immediately nods. “Starving.”

“Get changed… dinner will be served in an hour,” West snaps, waving her hand at a servant.

“Follow me,” the girl blandly says.

She leads them to a set of double doors, then shoves one open.

“This isn’t the room I was in before,” Dorothy says, hesitating outside.

“You’ve been given new rooms, Mistress Dorothy,” the young woman says, sounding less than enthused.

“What about Sylvie? She…”

“She is already inside. She – and your dog – wouldn’t let anyone near her except for _Tip_ ,” the woman informs, clearly disdainful of the newest servant.

Lucas hurries inside, eager to find the little girl. Dorothy quickly mutters a word of thanks before following him.

It is a spacious suite of rooms, and they hear Tip’s voice behind one of the doors.

“Sylvie?” Lucas calls.

“Tip?” Dorothy adds, knocking.

The doors open, and little Sylvie greets them with a tiny smile, looking cleaner than she ever has. She rushes forward and hugs Lucas. “You look beautiful, little one,” he says, running his hand over her shining hair.

“W-wet,” Sylvie quietly says, pulling away. Then she hugs Dorothy, even though she is just as soaked.

“When did she start talking?” Dorothy mouths to Lucas, eyes wide.

“Yesterday,” he whispers. “Still not much.”

Sylvie pulls away from Dorothy and turns towards Tip, who is holding out a towel for her.

“Thank you, Tip,” Dorothy says.

“She only trusts me because I helped you,” he answers, carefully drying off the parts of Sylvie that got wet.

“There aren’t many people to trust around here,” Dorothy replies.

Tip nods. “I know.” He turns to hang up the towel and Dorothy puts a hand on his shoulder.

“I know you do.” She turns to head out, but his voice stops her.

“I’m supposed to show you your rooms.”

“Okay,” Dorothy says.

Tip sighs and walks in front of them. “That was Sylvie’s room,” he points behind them. “This is obviously the main room,” he says, waving his hand around the central chamber. “Sleeping chamber,” he points. “There is a bath in there. The other bath is there,” he points to a third door.

Dorothy blinks, noticing there is only _one_ bedroom apart from Sylvie’s. She glances at Lucas and sees a question on his face he can’t quite articulate, but she is pretty sure what it is.

“You’re supposed to get cleaned up and changed for dinner,” Tip says. “You’ll find clothing in the wardrobes.” He begins to walk out, then stops. “The dog doesn’t get to come to dinner, but I’ll bring him some food,” he adds, then exits.

“Um, okay,” Dorothy says. She looks down at Sylvie and sees the little girl sitting with Toto, absently stroking his fur. Toto makes a noise of doggy contentment and rests his chin on her lap with a sigh. His eyes close as she pets him. “I guess we just… Yeah.” She walks into the bedroom and sees a large four-poster bed, complete with red velvet draperies, in the center of the room. There are two huge wardrobes on one wall with a door between them, leading to the bath. There is a full-length mirror on another wall, beside some massive windows.

“Apparently we are to share?” Lucas finally finds his voice and asks the question that has been hanging over them.

“Apparently,” she replies, her voice weak.

“I can sleep out there if you—”

“No… it’s fine. You’ve been through a lot,” she interjects, not brave enough to turn around and face him.

“We both have,” he quietly says.

“Yes, well… even so, sleeping on a couch won’t do you any good,” she answers.

“I could fall asleep right now, standing right here, I’m so tired,” he responds with a gruff laugh. He notices she doesn’t offer to sleep on a couch and let him have the bed alone.

She finally turns and looks at him. “I think that other bathroom is for you,” she says, her hand reaching for his of its own accord. “You stink,” she adds with a laugh.

“So do you,” he counters, his shy, crooked smile warming her heart. He leans down and gives her a small, soft kiss, then heads to his own bathroom.

 

xXx

 

A soft, timid knock on the door rouses Dorothy from a slumber she hadn’t realized she slipped into.

“Mistress Dorothy?”

Dorothy opens her eyes to see a pretty young woman hovering uncertainly in the doorway to her bath. “Oh… um… hi.”

“I am here to assist you. My name is Lia,” she says, curtseying but still not entering. She is very young with pale skin, almost-black hair, and striking green eyes.

“I don’t need any—”

“Please, Mistress. It is my job. Mistress West said—”

Dorothy holds her hand up, knowing the girls are likely all afraid of West. She knows _she_ still is. “All right. I don’t want you to get in trouble.” She waves her in.

“Oh, thank you, Mistress,” Lia sighs, hurrying forward.

“Just… just Dorothy is fine,” Dorothy says, knowing it’s probably futile. These witches seem to be big on ceremony.

“I cannot,” Lia answers, taking up a soft sponge as Dorothy leans forward.

“How ’bout ‘Miss’ then? I don’t think I like being called ‘Mistress’ very much,” Dorothy says.

Lia finishes washing Dorothy’s back and reaches for a pitcher. “Please lean your head back… Miss,” she says, trying it out.

Dorothy obliges, and eventually settles in, enjoying having her hair washed. She thinks back to when she was little and Aunt Em would wash her hair in the kitchen sink. She actually smiles, remembering kneeling on a kitchen chair, leaning forward with her head hanging in the sink until her neck and back ached.

This is nothing like that at all. She reclines back, her hair hanging over a basin, as Lia carefully and gently pours water over her hair, rinsing it clean.

Lia helps Dorothy out of the bath, slips a robe over her shoulders, then follows her into the bedroom. She glances around, looking for signs of Lucas.

“There is a small dressing room in the other bath. Your man is in there, being assisted by Rex,” Lia informs, guessing Dorothy’s thoughts.

“Rex? West has male servants too?” She is guessing Rex is male; though in this land, she really has no idea, because some of the names are quite different than the kinds to which she is accustomed.

“Not many,” Lia answers, opening the wardrobe while Dorothy sits and continues squeezing the water out of her hair with a towel. She withdraws a red gown. “This is the gown you are to wear tonight,” she says.

“Oh is it?” Dorothy asks, eyebrows rising.

Lia’s eyes widen. “Forgive me, Miss, but this is a ceremonial dinner, and traditionally—”

“Lia. It’s fine.” Dorothy sighs. “I’m sorry; I’m still getting used to all this. I don’t know that I ever will.”

“Yes, Miss. You will have your choice any other time… well, almost… but tonight, this dress must be worn,” Lia explains.

“Well, I guess I shouldn’t go against tradition,” she replies. “It is a beautiful dress.”

 

xXx

 

Dorothy emerges from the bedroom 20 minutes later. The gown is gorgeous and fits her very well, flattering her slender waist and soft curves. Her hair is partly up but hanging long down her back, with red ribbons woven through, all courtesy of Lia.

She sees Lucas standing near the window, looking out into the night. When he turns, neither of them can find words.

“Pret-ty,” Sylvie’s quiet voice breaks the silence.

Dorothy smiles and looks at the girl, still sitting with Toto on the couch. “Thank you, Sylvie. You are very pretty, too.”

Lucas has been walking towards Dorothy while she was talking, and she finally gets a good look at him. He is wearing shiny brown leather boots over snug-fitting trousers that highlight his muscular thighs, a red and gold brocade vest, and a cream colored shirt that is open at the neck. His sword, which has been cleaned and polished, hangs at his hip. Like Sylvie earlier, he is cleaner than Dorothy has ever seen him.

He looks gorgeous.

“Hi,” she breathes, unable to come up with anything intelligent to say.

“Hello,” he answers, his stormcloud blue eyes drinking her in like she is an oasis and he has been lost in the desert for days. “You look beautiful,” he says, able to finish the sentence this time.

“You too,” she replies, and the two simply stare at one another.

Lia quietly clears her throat, breaking the spell. Dorothy turns. “We do not want to keep Mistress West waiting, Miss,” she gravely informs.

“Right. Okay,” Dorothy agrees.

“Are you hungry, Sylvie?” Lucas asks, holding his hand out. The little girl hops down from the couch and comes to take his hand. Toto pads over to a large cushion in the corner that clearly has been placed there for him and curls up.

“Good boy,” Dorothy calls, then takes Lucas’ other arm. “You ready for this?” she asks him.

“No,” he answers.

“Good, because neither am I.”

 

xXx

 

“Ah, what a lovely pair you two make,” Mistress West greets them. Dorothy manages a weak smile, never sure if the witch is being serious or sarcastic. “Come, sit.”

Dorothy sits across from West. Lucas takes the seat to Dorothy’s right, and Sylvie is shown to a chair on his other side.

The food is brought out and they eat in uncomfortable silence for a while. Dorothy notices West drinks more than she eats.

“You have questions,” West finally says.

“Yeah, but I can’t put most of them into words right now,” Dorothy replies.

“Suits me fine; it’s less I have to do,” West comments, waving to a serving girl to refill her goblet.

“Why is everything in my room red?” Dorothy asks.

“You are to be the new Witch of the East,” West answers, rolling her eyes. “Glinda has everything white. My things are black. Our late sister’s was red, as I’m sure you recall,” she continues unable to keep the bitterness from her voice at the end.

“What? I can’t be a… a…” Dorothy pauses snapping her fingers, “what was it? A Cardinal Witch!”

“My sister’s gauntlets chose you for a reason,” West grudgingly replies. Clearly she still isn’t terribly keen on bringing Dorothy into the fold.

“Well they chose wrong. I have no idea what I’m doing!” Dorothy exclaims.

West laughs, throwing her head back. “You think I do? You think any of us do? That’s what life is, child.”

“I thought you said life was choices,” Dorothy counters.

“I did. And it is. But I never said there wasn’t a lot of guessing involved,” she answers, picking up her goblet. “Your kid’s asleep,” she adds, pointing to Sylvie, whose head is resting on her folded arms on the tabletop. She snaps her fingers and Tip appears out of the shadows.

Lucas stands to lift the sleeping girl, but Tip waves him off. “I’ve got her,” he says. Lucas hesitates, and Tip gives him a level look before easing Sylvie into his arms. “Is she your daughter?”

“No. Well, I don’t know, but I don’t think so,” Lucas answers. “I hope that I would remember something as important as that.”

Dorothy reaches out and gives his hand a gentle squeeze. Tip leaves with Sylvie and Lucas takes his seat, still holding Dorothy’s hand.

“Your consort is a man of few words,” West observes. “A quality I always prefer in a man.”

“Some people only speak when they have something worth saying,” Dorothy responds, defending him.

“As I said,” West replies, angling her head. She drains her goblet, deliberately sets it on the table, then gives Dorothy and Lucas a crafty look. “All right, I’ve kept you long enough,” she says. “I’m sure you must be… eager… to retire.”

“Thank you,” Dorothy replies. “I know _I’m_ exhausted, so Lucas must be about ready to fall over.”

“Well, as long as you have enough energy left for the Sanctification,” West blithely comments. “Oh,” she adds her voice dripping with innuendo though her expression attempts to be innocent, “you probably don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

Dorothy gives West a sideways look. “No, but I think I can guess,” she says after a few seconds.

“Oh good. I would hate to have to _spell_ it out for you,” the witch replies, cackling madly. “Oh, come now. That was funny.”

Dorothy manages a weak smile. “Sorry, I’m not used to all this. I’m still not completely sure you’re not going to kill me,” she blurts.

West’s expression sobers. “I’m still not completely sure I’m not going to kill you either,” she says. “But you can rest assured I won’t tonight. Wouldn’t want to deprive you of your—”

“Okay,” Dorothy says, cutting her off. “Um, goodnight then.” She stands, takes Lucas’ hand, and leads him from the hall. In the corridor, she stops.

“Dorothy?” Lucas asks, wondering why they’ve stopped.

“I can’t remember the way back to our room,” she says, knowing it has to be because her mind is completely addled by a combination of exhaustion, that damn weird wine, and the knowledge of what they have to do once they get there.

“This way.” He leads them towards the stairwell, then up and along a corridor to their doors. Outside the room, he pauses. “Was she saying what I think she was saying?”

Dorothy looks up at him, nods, then pushes the door open and enters.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Lia had been busy while they were gone. The rooms are spotlessly clean, their dirty clothes gone to either be cleaned or burned. In the bedroom, the bed is turned down, the thick curtains drawn over the windows, there is a fire in the fireplace, and candles have been lit.

Dorothy clasps her hands together to keep them from shaking as she walks into the room. She can sense Lucas behind her, though he is moving silently. She kicks her shoes off, just to occupy herself while she screws up her courage and tries to slow her racing heart.

“We don’t _have_ to…” he softly says behind her.

“Yes, we do,” she counters. “She’ll _know_ if we don’t. And it’s apparently part of the ceremony.” She whirls around and pulls up short because he is _right_ there. “But it doesn’t matter anyway,” she adds, her eyes focused on his neck, memorizing his Adam’s apple and the little dip below it between his collar bones, “because… because I want to.”

“Y-you do?” he whispers.

She lifts her eyes to meet his and her lips part at the want – no, need – she sees there. She lifts one hand to his face, his beard softer under her palm since his bath, and he turns his face and kisses the fleshy pad at the base of her thumb.

He leans down, his hands finding her waist as he briefly nuzzles her nose with his. He hovers there for a few seconds, drawing the moment out as her fingers move into his hair.

Then there is a knock at the door.

“Miss Dorothy?” Lia’s muffled voice sounds on the other side of the door. “Please, it’s important.”

Dorothy exhales a shaky sigh and she steps away from Lucas and out into the main chamber.

She opens the door to see blushing Lia holding a tray with what appears to be a tea service. “Oh good, I’m not too late,” she blurts, then adds, “Oh! Excuse me, Miss, but I thought you might want this.” She nods at the tray.

“Tea?” Dorothy asks, stepping aside to let the girl in.

“Yes, Miss. It will prevent… um… any unwanted… results?” she tries, her pale skin flushing red.

“Oh,” Dorothy says, understanding. She hadn’t yet had a spare second to pause and think about contraception, so she’s very glad she opened the door.

Lia pours a cup. “Drink now, then again… after,” she instructs, carefully not looking at either of them. “You might want to add honey. I’ve been told it doesn’t taste very good without it.” She pauses, bites her lower lip, and adds, “Um, then if there are any… other times, you just need to drink some after.” Her cheeks are so red she must feel like she is on fire.

“And these?” Dorothy asks, pointing to some cookies on the tray.

“Those are just cookies,” Lia answers, still averting her gaze.

“All right. Thank you, Lia,” Dorothy says, taking the cup. She sips, makes a face, then sets it down and spoons a generous dollop of honey into it.

“Miss,” Lia replies, curtseys, then scurries out.

Dorothy obediently drinks the tea, grateful it isn’t too hot _._

“That was thoughtful,” Lucas comments, walking towards her. “I was a little worried about what might happen if…”

“Yeah,” Dorothy agrees. “Ugh, the honey doesn’t help very much,” she comments, then downs the rest in one swig, just to get it down. She sets down her empty cup and immediately reaches for one of the cookies before walking back over to Lucas. “This is good though.” She takes another bite, then holds it up in front of his lips.

Lucas gently wraps his hand around hers, then bites the offered cookie. “Mmm,” he agrees.

She reaches up with her free hand and brushes a crumb from his beard, just below his lip. She smiles, thinking of the day they met and the apple they shared. When she looks up at him, he is smiling back down at her, clearly remembering the same thing.

He guides their hands back to her mouth, and she takes another bite. Then he eats the rest of it, his lips brushing her fingertips as he takes the piece. After he swallows, he kisses her hand, then places it over his heart. Her fingers curl into his chest hair, feeling the warmth of his skin and the steady thump of his heartbeat under her palm.

He leans forward and places a tender kiss on her lips, but doesn’t linger. When he pulls away she chases his lips with hers for a second, wanting more. When she opens her eyes, he moves around behind her and begins carefully unwinding the ribbons from her hair.

His touch is almost painfully gentle, especially considering the things of which Dorothy knows him to be capable. Her hair gradually tumbles free, and he threads his fingers through it, watching with fascination as the raven strands slip between his pale hands.

She feels him lean down and bury his nose in her hair, slowly inhaling her scent. He exhales with a quiet groan, and she cannot stop herself from spinning around and catching his lips in a needy kiss.

Dorothy’s hands grab his vest, fingers blindly opening the buttons before shoving it from his shoulders.

“Dorothy,” Lucas rasps, “we should go into the other room.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the bedroom.

He closes the door, then sets his vest on a chair before tugging his boots and socks off. Then he slowly stalks towards her, his eyes dark and predatory.

She turns her back to him, moving her hair out of the way, and he is presented with a row of small buttons running down her spine.

He gently positions her to stand before him while he sits on the bed, adjusting for the difference in their heights. He first places a kiss on the skin of her back above her dress, then proceeds to open the buttons.

Again, he moves gently, deliberately, and with agonizing slowness, kissing each inch of flesh as it is revealed to him.

Dorothy tries to be patient, but her body is already tingling with anticipation (somewhere in the back of her mind she wonders what, exactly, was in that tea and if it is responsible for her currently heightened senses), and Lucas’ slow, gentle attention is making her want to just _take_ him, clothes be damned.

“Patience, Dorothy,” he murmurs against her skin, as if he senses her thoughts.

“You are taking too long,” she replies.

“This is not something to be rushed,” he counters, opening the last button. He presses his lips to her spine, just at her waist, then slides his hands up the smooth skin of her back. She shudders under his caress, then pulls her arms from the sleeves.

She pushes the dress over her hips and it falls to the floor in a heap of fabric. She steps out and turns around.

“Oh,” he grunts, his hands finding her hips and pulling her towards him. He begins lavishing soft, wet kisses on her breasts while she rakes her fingers through his hair.

“Lucas.” She whispers his name, feeling that curiously lightheaded, over-sensitized feeling again as he sets about slowly and deliberately making her come undone.

His lips are very distracting, but not distracting enough to prevent her from tugging at his shirt. He leans back just long enough, just far enough, to tug the shirt over his head and off.

She takes advantage of this and pounces, tackling him back onto the bed. Before he can react, she covers his lips with hers, taking control.

Attempting to take control.

When she hears and feels his low growl and immediately finds herself on her back beneath him, she realizes she never had it.

“Take your time, Love,” he rumbles. “We have all night. There’s no need to rush.”

“But—”

He kisses away her protest, then says, “The only thing I have to give you is my time.”

She reaches up and caresses his face, his beard now familiar under her fingertips. “That’s not true,” she says. “You have given me so much,” she pauses to kiss him, murmuring, “your protection… your devotion…”

“Myself,” he adds, his hand sliding down her side until his fingers find the edge of the scant undergarment she has on. He hooks his fingers into it and slides it down over her long, slender legs and onto the floor. He removes his trousers and undergarments while he is at the edge of the bed, then returns to her. “I am yours, Dorothy. All of me. All I am belongs to you.”

The question _What if you get your memory back?_ threatens to spring from her lips, but it is quickly forgotten when he begins slowly kissing her once again, making her aware of nothing but him and how he makes her feel.

She sighs his name when he moves to her neck, his beard slightly rough around the slickness of his tongue. She writhes beneath him, growing impatient again, winding her leg around his. His low chuckle vibrates through her chest as he continues his unhurried pace.

He stops laughing when her fingers find him, wrapping around his length and stroking.

“Dorothy,” he croaks, almost choking, her touch causing him to briefly falter and fumble. He groans, dropping his forehead against her sternum for a moment. When he raises his head, the look he is giving her is dark and feral, and it makes her blood further heat.

“Oh,” she softly gasps, her hand stilling on his cock. A second later, she arches under him as he fights fire with fire, his fingers slipping between her legs. “Mmm,” she moans, tilting her hips into his hand, trying to encourage him.

“Not yet,” he says, nibbling her ear a bit before returning to her lips.

“You really know how to kiss,” she gasps, tearing her lips away. He responds by circling his fingers just so. “Oh! Among other things.”

He grins against her cheek, nibbles her lower lip, then settles between her thighs.

Hopeful, Dorothy guides him into position. Lucas deeply kisses her, then slowly pushes forward, sliding into her with a low groan.

“Ohh…” she sighs, arching up to meet him, to draw him further in. “Mmm…”

He draws his hips back, then forward again, still unhurried.

She pulls her knees up, pushing at him with her feet, trying to encourage him to pick up the pace.

“Patience,” he repeats, but his voice is strained, indicating his own patience is wearing a little thin.

“Fuck patience, and fuck _me_ ,” she replies, grabbing his face and pulling him down for a searing kiss. When his steady rhythm stutters and his fingers tighten on her breast, she knows she’s finally broken through his carefully cultivated control.

“Oh…” he grunts. “You make a… compelling argument.” He rears up and snaps his hips into her, thrusting harder, immediately picking up his pace.

She cries out, throwing her head back, her hands groping for his chest, shoulders, _something_ to anchor herself as he hurls them both into the abyss.

It doesn’t take long before Dorothy is shouting out Lucas’ name, her body convulsing under him, tightening around him, when the most intense orgasm she’s ever had courses through her.

Lucas manages to hold on through three more thrusts, then he stills, his body a coiled spring, every muscle taut as he surges into her.

He collapses over her, murmuring her name against her skin, his lips soft as they brush against her.

She can feel every point of contact between them, every hair on his chest against hers, every eyelash brushing her collarbone. Her body feels like it is tingling all over.

She brings her hand up, intending to stroke his hair, and sees the gauntlets, visible on her hands again. She turns her hand this way and that, watching how the red stones ( _Rubies? Garnets? Or are they some other red stone we don’t have at home?_ ) glow in the flickering candle flames. She slowly moves her fingers, making the gold glint before her eyes.

“Dorothy?” Lucas asks, lifting his head. “What are you? Oh,” he says, turning his face enough to see the gauntlets just before they disappear again. “Did we do that?”

“I think so,” she answers. “When I…”

“Yeah,” he replies, nodding, then gently rolling to the side. “I felt it, too.” He pulls her with him, and she rests her head on his shoulder.

She snuggles against him, and he reaches down to pull the covers up over them.

“It’s good you remembered how to do _that_ ,” Dorothy says after a minute.

“You’re surprised?” Lucas asks, his hand lazily dragging up and down the skin of her hip and side.

“A little,” she admits.

He turns his head, burying his nose in her hair. “I figured since I seemed to know how to wield my sword, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t know how to…”

“Wield your _sword_?” Dorothy finishes, giggling into his chest.

Lucas laughs, a low, rumbling chuckle that she realizes she hasn’t heard nearly enough. “You have a dirty mind,” he says.

“You love it,” she replies, chuckling.

“I do,” he says, his voice quite serious.

She looks up at him, and the look in his eyes as he gazes down at her both thrills and frightens her. She can see the words there, the words he wants to say but is afraid will make her bolt.

And she knows, deep down, that he’s not entirely wrong. She _might_ bolt if he says them.

Not that she has anywhere to go. She’s slowly accepting the fact that she is probably stuck here. She’s agreed to join up with the witches, for Pete’s sake, so a part of her must know that Kansas is going to remain a memory.

If the Wizard is to be believed, she was born here. So maybe she does belong here..

And what’s more, she’s actually _happy_ here. Lucas and Sylvie make her happy. Happier than she can remember ever being in Kansas. And while that stings, it is a small comfort in this strange place. As much as she wants to go home to her aunt and uncle, she would be equally heartbroken to leave Lucas and Sylvie.

“Dorothy?” Lucas’ soft rumble draws her out of her thoughts.

“Hmm?”

“Oh good, I was afraid you’d fallen asleep. Don’t forget you’re supposed to drink some more of that awful tea,” he reminds her, kissing her forehead.

“Ugh, right,” she says, sliding out of bed. She bends down, grabs his shirt from the floor, and throws it on.

“That looks good on you,” he calls as she walks out to the sitting room to pour herself another dreadful cup.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My plans for this chapter were in place before episode 1x08.

“Oh…” Dorothy moans, her body undulating beneath Lucas, as she approaches her fourth orgasm since the previous night’s dinner. He languidly moves over her, unhurried, his body curved over hers as he kisses her, his tongue moving in time with his hips.

It is late morning, nearly noon, and they spent the night alternating between making love and sleeping. Dorothy woke up a few hours after their first “sanctification” and climbed over him before she was even fully aware of what she was doing. Then, several hours after that, Lucas awoke spooned behind her with his hand over her breast and his erect cock wedged into her delectable rear end. His lips found their way to her neck and he drew her into a needy wakefulness, kissing and stroking her until she hooked her leg back over his and guided his length inside.

This time, their eyes opened almost simultaneously and, without a word, he climbed over and delved into her.

Lucas groans and drops his head, burying it in her neck, inhaling her scent, which is now colored with hints of his own. Dorothy gasps and clutches his head, coming only seconds before he does.

“Dorothy.” He sighs her name as he slumps over her, his eyes closing.

“I think it’s morning,” she guesses. The curtains over the windows are very effective at keeping the light out.

“I think it might be later than that,” he replies, rolling off of her. He turns his head and sees a mark on her neck. He reaches out and gently runs his fingers over it. “I’ve marked you.”

“Oh, great,” she answers.

“Sorry,” he apologizes.

She shrugs. “Nothing for it.” After a beat, she adds, “West will probably approve.”

He snorts. “She—”

A timid knock on the door interrupts him. Dorothy gets up and throws on her robe, going to the door. She opens it a crack and sees Lia standing there, blushing, as usual.

“Miss Dorothy… lunch will be ready soon,” she informs. She looks even more skittish than yesterday.

“Okay, thanks,” Dorothy replies. “Is something wrong?”

“No… it’s just… Mistress North is here. She is waiting to meet you and… she’s getting impatient,” Lia answers.

“Waiting to meet me?” Dorothy asks.

“Yes, Miss. Rex is waiting to attend Sir Lucas,” she says. “Miss Sylvie has been awake for several hours now. She has had a morning meal, and Tip is looking after her.”

“Thank you, Lia. Um… give us a minute.”

“Yes, Miss.”

Dorothy closes the door and turns to see Lucas pulling his trousers on. “I heard,” he says, walking to her. “We should get cleaned up and get something to eat,” he says, gently cupping her face with his hands and kissing her forehead.

“You’re hungry,” she says, smiling at him.

“Yes. And don’t forget to drink your tea,” he reminds her, kissing her once more before he goes. He has come to realize that he wouldn’t mind if she wound up carrying his child, but he knows it is not what _she_ wants – at least not right now – and will respect that.

“I won’t; thanks,” she replies, touched at his thoughtfulness. He exits and Lia enters while Dorothy goes to the teapot. There is just enough inside for one more cup, and it is still hot. She drinks, trying to think of what else she could add to improve the taste. The fifth cup is no better than the first was last night, but she drinks it down, grimacing as she sets the cup back on the table. She looks up to see Lia politely standing and waiting

“Is the pot empty?” she asks.

“Yes,” Dorothy answers, feeling slightly embarrassed. “Is that good or bad?”

Lia shrugs and goes to the wardrobe. “All it means is you do not need to drink any more until after you bleed.”

Dorothy’s eyebrows rise. “Well, I guess that’s good news,” she says. “Another whole pot?” she ventures, hoping not.

“Just a cup before you and Sir Lucas…”

“Right. Okay,” Dorothy quickly interjects, sparing the girl from having to explain further. “I think I’ve got it.”

Lia mumbles something as she pulls out a few options for the day. There is a knock on the doors just then, and Dorothy nods. Lia scuttles to the doors and opens them.

“Excuse me, Mistress,” a thin young man apologizes, bowing as he hurries in, heading immediately towards the other wardrobe.

“Rex,” Lia reprimands with a harsh whisper. “I told you she doesn’t like ‘Mistress’!”

“Oh! Forgive me,” Rex apologizes again, stopping and bowing once more. “I do hope I haven’t caused offense.”

“It’s all right,” Dorothy says, looking down at the strange man. He is slightly shorter than Lucas but only half as broad, with hair so blond it is nearly white. He has pale blue eyes and skin so pale that it looks slightly translucent. He has a strange, delicate beauty to him, but it contrasts with his bearing, which is very deliberate and businesslike, suggesting he is stronger and sturdier than he appears. “It’s nice to meet you,” she adds, automatically extending her hand.

“It is my honor to be in your service, Miss Dorothy,” Rex says. He takes her hand and deferentially kisses it, surprising her. “By your leave, I would like to gather some clothing for Sir Lucas so he has something appropriate to wear after his bath,” he adds.

“Go right ahead,” Dorothy answers. She turns towards Lia, looks at the outfit options the girl has set out for her to wear, and sighs. _Don’t these people wear jeans and t-shirts?_

“You are displeased,” Lia says, her face falling.

“No, no… not really,” Dorothy answers, absently waving to Rex as he exits with his arms full. “I’m just used to… simpler clothing, that’s all.”

“Like what you were wearing when you arrived,” Lia says.

“Yes. The dress I was wearing last night was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever worn,” Dorothy confesses. “Where I come from, there aren’t a lot of opportunities to wear gowns.”

To her surprise, Lia says, “That sounds… really nice.” Her eyes widen and she quickly adds, “Oh! I simply mean that it would be… nice… to not have to worry about…” her brows furrow, “appearances so much… to be able to dress for comfort and ease because you want to… like a peasant.” After a beat, she quietly says, “Or a man.”

“You don’t like your dresses?” Dorothy ventures. She points to the simplest of the three gowns laid out before her.

“Not especially,” Lia confesses. “Would you like to bathe first?”

“Is there time?” Dorothy asks.

“Some.”

“I probably should clean up after…” she starts, then stops that train of thought. She feels a bit sore and more than a bit sticky down below and a bath, even a quick one, is a very attractive idea. “We don’t need to wash my hair,” she says, redirecting.

“Yes, Miss,” Lia agrees. “And if you wish it, I will see about having some simpler garments made for you.”

“Thank you,” Dorothy says. “Have some made for yourself while you’re at it,” she adds, deciding to see if she has any non-magical power in this place.

“I couldn’t!” Lia gasps, trying not to smile as she pours magically-heated water into the tub.

“Would it help to tell… whoever… that _I_ wish it so?” Dorothy tries.

“Probably,” Lia quietly says. “Thank you, Miss.”

“You’re welcome,” Dorothy says. “And you know what? I _do_ wish it so. You’re my attendant, and I want you to be comfortable and happy.”

“Thank you,” Lia whispers as she takes Dorothy’s robe.

xXx

“Good of you to join us,” West drawls as Dorothy and Lucas enter the dining room. Lunch is just being served. She sighs and stands, then says in a rather bored voice, “Allow me to present my sister Glinda, the Witch of the North… Mother of the Sound and Pure.”

Glinda stands, as pale and shining as West is dark and brooding. “The new Witch of the East. Tell me… Dorothy, is it? Are you prepared to bear the mantle of Most Merciful and Stern?”

“I know I have much to learn, but I hope to be ready soon,” Dorothy carefully answers. She watches with curiosity as Glinda’s gaze shifts from her to Lucas, standing beside but slightly behind her.

“Roan,” Glinda gasps. “What are you doing here?”

“Ma’am?” Lucas asks, confused.

West does nothing to hide her knowing smirk. Dorothy notices it, but doesn’t react. She hopes she doesn’t anyway.

“You took the potion, I see,” Glinda says, nodding slowly. “You have been missing for some time, dear one.”

“Dear one?” Dorothy repeats, mostly to herself, as she looks back and forth between Lucas and Glinda.

“I know my memory was taken,” Lucas answers. He steps forward, but his hand finds Dorothy’s, almost as if he needs to draw strength from her right now. “And Mistress West tells us that it was your magic that took it.”

“It was. It was for your safety,” Glinda says, walking towards him. “Would you like your memory restored to you, Roan?”

“Lucas,” he automatically corrects. He looks down at Dorothy, his eyes searching hers. She squeezes his hand in encouragement. Then he looks back at Glinda and nods, his fingers tightening around Dorothy’s hand.

“Is that the name she gave you?” Glinda asks. “How charming.” Without another word, she takes Lucas’ face in her hands, lifts up on tiptoe, and kisses him.

Dorothy’s mouth opens, but before she can say anything, Glinda steps back, waiting.

Lucas blinks once. “Mistress,” he says in a reverent tone, releasing Dorothy’s hand and dropping to one knee before Glinda, his head bowed.

“Is someone going to tell me what is going on?” Dorothy says, her tone a little harsher than she expected.

“Roan is my head guard. I chose him myself, plucking him from the Wizard’s Guard, out from under the thumb of the tyrant, to protect me and my apprentices,” Glinda says, indicating Lucas should stand. “He was just a recruit at the time and little more than a boy, but I have molded him into the fine warrior he is today. He is my most favored and prized of all who serve me.”

Dorothy can’t believe her ears. All she can think is _Who does this bitch think she’s kidding?_ “You used him as your errand boy and almost got him killed,” she sharply replies, unable to hold her tongue. She can feel the tingle of magic in her hands, and wonders if the gauntlets are beginning to appear. She’ll be damned if she’s taking her eyes off of Glinda though. “If I hadn’t found him hanging like a damned scarecrow on a post, he _would_ be dead!”

Glinda bristles, haughtily lifting her chin. “He is _my_ —”

“May I speak?” Lucas says, bravely interrupting the witch.

“Of course,” Glinda replies, her voice sickeningly sweet.

“I do not know what happened to most of the girls in my care that day, but I know that Dorothy found me and brought me down from the post. She could have kept on walking, but she didn’t. She saved my life, and I have pledged to protect her with that life. And I intend to continue to do so,” Lucas says, his hand finding Dorothy’s again.

“You pledged to serve _me_ first,” Glinda retorts. “ _I_ saved you from the grueling life as a Wizard’s Guard; _I_ raised you, kept you sa—”

“You knew my destination, knew my route, and did not bother to try to find me when I went missing!” Lucas snaps, cutting her off.

“I sent out search—”

“You left me to die hanging on a post!”

“It doesn’t matter!” West’s voice rises up above the rest of them. Clearly she has grown bored watching this drama and has decided to settle the dispute.

“What?” Glinda asks, turning to look at her sister.

“It doesn’t matter who _claimed_ him first. It doesn’t matter who he _wants_ to serve,” West says. She sits and stabs a piece of meat with her fork, determined to eat her lunch. “He is bound to Dorothy now.”

Glinda’s complexion pales even more than it normally is. “You mean…?”

West looks up at them, raising an eyebrow. “About three or four times, by the looks of them,” she says, then picks up a goblet. “Good on you both,” she says, toasting them before drinking.

“They completed the sanctification ceremony,” Glinda whispers. “You completed the sanctification ceremony?” she repeats, wheeling around, as if she needs to hear it from them.

“Yes,” Dorothy simply answers. She sees Glinda’s eyes flit to her hands, and adds, “Yes, they appeared at the _appropriate_ moment, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Actually, they appeared every single time, but Dorothy keeps that information to herself for now, in case she needs more proof.

Glinda clenches her jaw.

“I told you it didn’t matter,” West says.

“You can never return to me,” Glinda coldly tells Lucas. “You are bound to _her_ for the rest of your life now. Even if you grow to hate the sight of her, the sound of her voice, the very _thought_ of her, you are bound to this woman until one of you dies. This is what you want?”

“Yes,” Lucas immediately answers. “I am fully aware of the consequences of my actions, Mistress.”

Dorothy notices he does not apologize, and mentally lauds him for it. She also realizes that she is now pretty much married to this man with no backsies. Strangely, it doesn’t worry her as much as she thought it would.

“So be it,” Glinda snaps. She stalks back over to her chair and sits.

“I _know_ you must be hungry after last night,” West says, waving her fork at them. Dorothy looks at Lucas, then they go to the table and sit. “You’ve been marked.”

Dorothy self-consciously moves her hair forward to cover the love bite on her neck. “Um, yes,” she says, picking up her fork.

“That’s good. It may be there forever, by the way.”

“What?” Dorothy looks up. _I might have to go around with a permanent hickey?_

“Depends on when it happened,” West says. “It might fade; it might not,” she adds with a shrug.

“It is better if it stays,” Glinda mutters, still frowning over her salad, which she is stabbing like a serial killer.

“Oh,” Dorothy answers, mindlessly taking a bite of food.

Conversation ceases for a short time until Glinda breaks it again.

“You said ‘most’,” she says, looking at Lucas. His brow furrows and she clarifies, “You said you did not know what happened to _most_ of the girls. That means you know what happened to some of them.”

“One,” he admits.

“Lucas…” Dorothy says, looking at him.

“I cannot lie to her any more than I can to you,” he simply explains. “It just isn’t possible.”

“She is here, with you?” Glinda asks.

“Yes, and she’s staying here, too,” Dorothy says.

“This is no place for a little girl,” Glinda counters.

“She’s right,” West says. “The girl should go with her. She will get the training she needs there.” Dorothy looks up at her, surprised. “Did you think I did not know she was a little witch?” West asks. “One, you’re a terrible liar, and two, I knew as soon as I saw her.”

“Of course you did,” Dorothy mutters.

“I’ll miss Sylvie, too, Dorothy, but she should go with Glinda. It is the best thing for her,” Lucas says.

She looks down at her plate. She knows that she has a lot of work to do herself, and she will probably not be able to give Sylvie the attention she deserves. After a minute, she turns to Glinda. “She’ll be safe? You’ll take good care of her?”

“She will be given everything she needs and wants. Treated with the utmost respect. Untouched and pure, forever,” Glinda says, smiling beatifically.

“We should ask her,” Dorothy says after a moment of thought. “We can’t just make her go if she doesn’t want to go.”

“Yes, you can,” West comments.

“But I _won’t._ There’s a difference,” Dorothy replies. “Just because a person _can_ do something doesn’t meant she _should._ ”

“Interesting theory,” West says. She looks at a young woman standing near the doors. “Go and fetch Tip. Have him bring the witch girl here.” The woman curtseys and leaves.

“Sylvie?” Glinda asks. “Is this another name from you?”

“Sort of,” Dorothy says, not really wanting to go into detail about how they started calling the girl “Sylvie”. “She hasn’t corrected us,” she adds with a shrug.

“Hmm,” Glinda replies, returning to her lunch.

Dorothy watches the Witch of the North out of the corner of her eye. For all the older woman appears to be a beacon of purity and light, there is something she’s not sure she trusts about her. She doesn’t really trust West either, but at least West doesn’t hide behind a contrived façade.

The doors open a minute later and Tip enters, followed by Sylvie. The little girl smiles and runs to Dorothy, hugging her, then Lucas.

“We gave Toto a bath,” she slowly, quietly says.

Dorothy’s eyebrows rise in amusement. “You did! Did he like it?”

Sylvie nods. “He got me all wet.”

“I’ll bet he did; he’s as big as you,” Dorothy replies. “Are you hungry?”

Sylvie shakes her head.

“She has had her noon meal,” Tip supplies.

Lucas pulls Sylvie onto his lap and smoothes her hair. “Sylvie,” he says, then pauses, blinking a few times. “Leith. That is your name.” The little girl smiles and nods at him.

“Very good, Roan,” Glinda says with a smile.

“Lucas,” he corrects her. “Roan is who I was. Lucas is who I am.”

Glinda presses her lips together, but says nothing.

“Leith, do you remember Mistress Glinda?” Lucas asks. She nods. “She would like you to go with her to her home. You will be able to learn how to control and use your magic. She will take good care of you.”

Sylvie, now Leith, looks from Lucas to Dorothy.

“Do you want to go with Mistress Glinda?” Dorothy asks. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” She pauses, sighs, then somewhat reluctantly says, “But you’ll be able to learn things from her that we won’t be able to teach you.” When she sees Glinda’s surprised expression, she looks at the witch and says, “I’ve been honest with her about everything up to this point; I’m not going to start lying to her now.”

“You have integrity. That is… good,” Glinda allows.

“You weren’t expecting that,” Dorothy assesses. When Glinda doesn’t reply, she knows she is right. She turns her attention back to Leith. “We can still visit each other, I promise.” She glances up at Glinda and gives her a glare that indicates that this condition is not negotiable.

“Leith,” Glinda says. She begins talking in a strange language, directly addressing the girl. Leith nods, indicating she understands what Glinda is saying to her.

“What did you tell her?” Dorothy asks.

“I asked her if she could understand me and explained that she will be with other girls like her. Learning together,” Glinda answers.

Dorothy looks at Leith, who nods, verifying Glinda’s words. She knows then that Leith, her little Sylvie, has made her choice.

“We will leave shortly,” Glinda declares, obviously realizing she has won this battle. She smiles at Dorothy, saying, “A trade then. You keep… _Lucas_ , and I will take Leith with me to join my apprentices.”

“Go with Tip and gather your things,” Lucas whispers, helping Leith down from his lap. He sees the look on Dorothy’s face and has a feeling that her next words are not going to be appropriate for a child’s ears.

“The Wizard wanted me to kill you,” Dorothy says once Leith has left. “He tried to make a bargain with me, to lure to me his side.”

“And?” Glinda asks, unimpressed.

“If I so much as suspect you are mistreating Sylvie, I’ll take the Wizard up on his offer,” she threatens. Her hands suddenly glint gold and red on the tabletop.

Glinda’s gaze drops to Dorothy’s hands for a second. “You are not worthy of our sister’s gauntlets,” she says, her expression stony.

“The gauntlets chose her for a reason,” West says, breaking her long silence with a low voice. “ _They_ felt she was worthy. It is not our place to question.”

“Well, until she learns to properly use them, her paltry threats mean nothing to me,” Glinda dismissively says.

Dorothy stands, refusing to be baited. “Don’t forget I’ve already had a partial hand in killing one witch. With no training,” she says, knowing she is playing with fire. She knows West has accepted that East’s death was not _entirely_ her fault, as the first mishap was an accident and the final one was an act of self-defense, but she doesn’t know Glinda’s stance on the subject.

But Dorothy stalks from the room before Glinda can respond. Lucas hurriedly stands, bows to the two witches, then follows.

xXx

“Be good,” Dorothy says, kneeling before Leith. The girl had precious few belongings to gather – clothes, mainly – so she was ready to leave in short order. “You are a good girl,” she says, hugging her. “I’ll miss you.”

Leith nods against Dorothy’s neck, squeezing tightly. “Thank you,” she quietly says.

“You let me know if you’re unhappy there, okay?” Dorothy whispers, and Leith nods, understanding. Dorothy leans back, gives the girl a smile, then stands, watching as Leith gives Lucas one more hug before wrapping her small arms around Toto’s neck, burying her face in his fur.

Glinda extends her hand and says something in that strange language. Dorothy hears Leith’s name, and assumes she is asking the girl to come along. Leith walks over to Glinda and takes her hand.

There is a flash of white light, and they are gone.

Lucas looks down at Dorothy, then reaches up to wipe the tears from her cheeks before kissing her forehead. “Come,” he says, taking her hand.

She lets him lead her back to their rooms, their footsteps a little heavier for the loss of their Sylvie.

Dorothy sits on a sofa near the window in the main sitting room, and Lucas joins her. They both stare out over the city for some time.

Finally, Dorothy speaks. “So you never… Sanctified… with Glinda?” she asks, trying not to look too disgusted.

Lucas’ lips twitch, trying to hide his smile at her jealousy. “No. That kiss… that was the first time she even so much as touched me. I was nothing more than her guard.”

“Her _head_ guard. Her most favored and prized.”

“Yes. And now I am yours.”


	5. Chapter 5

Lucas isn’t sleeping. He goes to bed each night, Dorothy in his arms. Sometimes they make love, sometimes not, but he lies in bed and holds her until she falls asleep.

It doesn’t take long. So dedicated is his Dorothy that she pushes herself to the point of exhaustion nearly every day, training, learning, practicing. She falls asleep quickly, and sleeps deeply.

So deeply that she doesn’t notice when Lucas slips out of bed, pacing, reading, even quietly practicing with his sword in the sitting room.

He leaves the door open in case she wakes; he is still completely devoted to protecting her. And he always returns to the bed before dawn, just in case.

But she never wakes.

Until she does.

She doesn’t call for him; she simply slips out of bed, pulls his discarded shirt on, and walks into the sitting room.

She finds him standing on the balcony, his body silhouetted against the low lights of the city. She walks towards him, through the open doors, and slips her arms around his waist from behind.

Surprisingly, he neither startles nor moves to defend himself. She turns her face and rests her cheek against the warm skin of his muscular back, her hands burrowing into the hair on his chest.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” he murmurs, placing one hand over both of hers.

“So are you,” she replies, kissing his shoulder blade. “Why are you standing out here naked?”

“There was no point in putting trousers on,” he simply answers.

She sighs, then moves around in front of him. “Why aren’t you sleeping?” she asks, lifting her hand to his face. She gently touches one of the dark circles under his eye. “Every night you leave,” she says. “You need sleep.”

“I didn’t think you noticed,” he admits, looking down. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You disturb me by not being in that bed with me. The knowledge that something is keeping you from sleeping disturbs me. Not to mention the fact that you’ve been keeping it from me,” she says, keeping her voice soft and understanding. She’s a little hurt, but she will put it aside for the moment if it will get her taciturn knight to talk to her.

“I’m sorry,” he immediately apologizes, lifting her hands to kiss her knuckles. He thoughtfully rubs them with his thumbs, then says. “I’ve been having nightmares.”

“Every night?”

He nods. “I… I’ve done terrible things, Dorothy,” he says, eyes closed.

“We all have,” she assures him, but somehow she thinks he has done some pretty horrific things, having been Glinda’s guard for most of his life. The Witch of the North likes to present herself as all goodness and purity, but Dorothy knows there is a stone-cold bitch underneath that saccharine exterior.

He shakes his head. “Not like I have.”

“And that’s what’s in these nightmares? Memories of your past?” she asks, running her fingertips over his brow, hoping to encourage him to open his eyes and look at her again.

“At first,” he says, looking down at her, his eyes soft but haunted. “Battles, fights… people I killed protecting Glinda… or at least that’s what I thought I was doing, but now, I’m not so sure.” He sighs. “My fellow soldiers, men I _knew…_ I killed or… or maimed… at her command.”

She bites back the words “You were just doing your job,” knowing that is not a real excuse. Instead, she simply listens.

“Then, my last memory before you found me…” he says, pulling her into his arms. “I was driving a wagon filled with young girls… young witches… taking them to a hidden location, to keep them safe from the Wizard. We were intercepted by Wizard’s Guards on the road. I… I don’t know what happened to most of the girls. It was my duty to protect them, and I failed…”

“How many guards were there?” she asks, resting her chin on his chest to look up at him.

“At least a dozen,” he answers.

Her brow furrows. “You were grossly outnumbered. You’re lucky you’re still alive,” she points out.

He tilts his head, reluctantly acknowledging the truth in her words. “I know some of the girls were killed,” he says. “But the only one I know for certain survive is Sylvie – Leith.”

“Did they run?” she asks. He nods. “Then hopefully some got away to safety.”

“I certainly hope so. They were just children,” he says, resting his head atop hers.

“Come back to bed,” she says, squeezing him.

“Dorothy, I…”

“Trust me,” she presses, pulling away from him and taking his hand. “I have an idea.”

“My nightmares got even worse,” he tells her as she leads him to their room.

“Worse?” she asks. She thought he was done.

“Yes. I stopped sleeping when I kept dreaming I was trying to kill you,” he quietly informs.

Dorothy stops walking just outside the door to their room. “What?”

“In my dreams… I’m trying to kill you. I don’t want to; I can feel myself struggling against it, but I can’t seem to stop,” Lucas says, his voice breaking as he admits this to her.

“And that scares you,” she whispers.

He looks down at her, blinking in surprise. “It doesn’t you?”

“No. They’re just dreams. I know you would never try to kill me,” she says, more sure of this than anything else right now.

“You don’t think… that because my other dreams were real things from my past… that _these_ dreams are…”

“Prophecies? Hardly,” she says. _Something isn’t right about these dreams._ “Come on.” She pulls him into the bedroom and closes the door.

“You seem very sure of yourself,” he observes.

“There’s one thing I’ve learned in this weird-ass place,” she replies, digging in a drawer. “If you sound like you know what you’re talking about, people will believe you. Even if you have no clue what you’re doing. Aha.” She pulls her iPod out and starts untangling the earbuds as she walks to the bed. As they crawl under the covers, she quietly asks, “Did you ever succeed?”

“At?”

“Killing me.”

“No,” he answers. “I always woke up before you stopped breathing. I don’t know if I… if I forced myself to wake or not. I like to think I did.”

She pauses, then says, “Well, that’s something anyway. Here.” She gives him one earbud and he obediently puts it in his ear.

“What are we doing?” he asks, watching as she puts the other in hers, like the first time they kissed.

“The music will connect us. The music and the… memory with it,” she says, avoiding his gaze as she so often does when talking about her feelings. “I’m going to see what’s going on in your dream. I hope.” She lies beside him, on her own pillow instead of his shoulder.

“Dorothy…” he starts, but gives up, knowing full well she’s going to do what she wants anyway because she always does.

She smiles a little, looking for the right playlist.  _Chill Mix._ She starts it, then sighs as Bill Withers’ caramel-smooth voice begins singing. She glances over and sees a smile gracing Lucas’ lips as well, his eyes closed.

“Take my hand,” she says, groping for him.

He wraps his fingers around her hand and isn’t surprised to feel the metal of the gold and ruby gauntlets there.

“...and I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know…”

Lucas drifts off to sleep. Dorothy follows, extending her consciousness out of her ear, into the wire of the cord, down through the iPod, and back up the other wire, into his head.

xXx

_Lucas is walking in a field. It looks like a farm, not unlike her home in Kansas. The colors are bolder, brighter, than the ones on her aunt and uncle’s house; it looks almost like a house from a fairy tale._

_He walks; she follows. She isn’t sure if he knows she’s there or can even see her, but she follows. He approaches the house, then goes around to a back entrance, as though he is sneaking inside._

_She can see the tension in the set of his shoulders. The reluctance in his stride. He is moving against his will, his motions stiff._

_She follows, watching the action almost like she’s watching it on television. She keeps her distance, unsure if dream-Lucas can see her or not. She hopes not._

_He creeps inside the back door, moving with the kind of silence only possible in movies and in dreams. Dorothy can see the back of her own head rising above the back of some kind of sofa or bench. So can Lucas. He walks towards it, stilted but still silent. He manages to stop himself once, but then jerks forward as if someone is pulling him by his belt._

_Dorothy quickly looks around, reaching out with what magic she has at her disposal. Looking to see if there is, in fact, someone pulling his strings. She feels a surge of anger at the thought of someone using_ her _Lucas as his – no,_ her _– puppet, and the magic flares stronger._

_Dream-Lucas leans over dream-Dorothy and wraps his arm around her neck from behind, attempting to strangle her._

_Dorothy pushes within herself and finds her point of view switched so she is in front of the action, facing the dream version of herself, struggling against the much stronger Lucas._

_Dream-Lucas’ face is a mask of anguish, and Dorothy feels another surge of anger. This time, she sees the telltale blue tendrils of magic swirling around him, speckling his body like stars._

Blue. Glinda’s color.

_Each of the Cardinal witches has her own color, and it is as ironclad as a fingerprint. Glinda is blue, West is green, and Dorothy is red. She can only assume Mother South is orange, since it’s the complementary color to blue._

_Dorothy pushes again, this time outwardly, and finds herself jolted into her dream-self’s body. Suddenly, she is living Lucas’ dream._

“ _Lucas.” She manages, despite her windpipe being constricted. “Fight.”_

“ _Stop me, Dorothy,” he pleads, his voice hoarse as he struggles within himself._

“ _Fight it, Lucas. You’re not doing this.” She works her hands up under his arm, trying to get herself some air. “It’s her…”_

_He stops dead for a split second, and it’s just long enough for her to pull away. She wheels to face him, her eyes darting to his hand, which is already grasping his dagger._

“ _She’s making you do this,” Dorothy says, not wanting to speak the witch’s name. Just in case._

_Lucas jerkily lunges. Dorothy leaps out of the way, raising her hand. The gauntlet gleams in the weird dream-light._

“ _Do it,” he croaks. “It’s the only way to stop it.” Then he attacks again, his face pained._

_Dorothy flicks her hand and he flies across the room, hitting the wall. The dagger falls from his hand. “I’m sorry,” she says._

“ _Thank you,” he gasps, already struggling to his feet and reaching for his sword. “Dorothy…” His voice breaks as he says her name._

_Without thinking, she rushes towards him, grabs his face, and pulls it down towards hers. She stares into his eyes, and can just hear the strains of the music from her iPod. The playlist is on “At Last” by Etta James. She’s not sure if it’s in her head or if he can hear it too, but she doesn’t take the time to think about it._

_She kisses him._

_Two seconds later, his sword drops to the floor. Dorothy pulls back and sees her red sparks overtake the blue. The blue explodes away from him, and he is bathed in a red glow for just a moment._

_Then the red disappears. Dorothy withdraws it, not wanting to exert any control over him. Dreams are private things and she will not intervene any further._

“ _I have to go now,” she says._

“ _Don’t go,” he immediately responds._

“ _I can’t stay here, Lucas. This is your dream, and my consciousness doesn’t belong in your head any more than Glinda’s did. Your dream version of me will remain, but… the real me needs to go,” she explains._

“ _But…”_

_She gently kisses his lips. “It’s not right for me to stay here,” she whispers. “She can’t hurt you any more.”_

“ _Thank you,” he repeats. Then he leans down and hungrily kisses her, his arms tightening around her._

_Dorothy reluctantly pulls her consciousness out of her dream-self, leaving Lucas to the privacy of his dream._

xXx

Gasping, Dorothy suddenly sits up, the strains of Prince’s “The Beautiful Ones” abruptly disappearing as the earbud falls from her ear. She takes a deep breath and puts her hand over her rapidly-thumping heart.

She glances down at Lucas, and he appears to be sleeping peacefully. She reaches down and caresses his face. He moans, but it doesn’t sound like a moan of anguish. A quick glance at the lower half of his body confirms that he is  _definitely_ not suffering.

She chuckles, then carefully removes the earbud from his ear before settling back in. She lies down on her side with her back to him, and he immediately spoons behind her.

She sighs and closes her eyes just as his hand worms its way up between her breasts and settles there.

_I did it._

xXx

Dorothy wakes some time later. She looks around, wondering if it is morning. Her bladder certainly thinks it is, so she gets up and heads to the bathroom and her hated chamber pot.

“Indoor plumbing,” she mumbles. “It’s a thing. Figure it out, people.”

A quick check outside confirms it is indeed morning, but she is still tired, so she decides to go back to bed. Just as she turns, she feels a prickle on the back of her neck.

_Glinda is here._

Fury grips her and she marches towards the door, yanking it open.

Lia and Rex jump to attention, startling at her sudden appearance and angry expression.

“Miss Dorothy, we—”

“Where is she?” Dorothy asks, her voice low and menacing as she shuts the door. “Glinda. I know she’s here; where is that great white bitch?”

Lia stammers, flustered, but Rex speaks up. “With Mistress West in her salon,” he says.

Dorothy storms to the doors.

“Miss! Do you not wish to dress first?” Lia asks, pointedly looking at her mistress, still only clad in Lucas’ shirt.

“No. I need to deal with her _now,_ while I’m still good and mad,” Dorothy says. She looks at Rex. “Do _not_ wake him up,” she adds, pointing to the bedroom door. “I don’t care where he’s supposed to be this morning. Cancel it. He needs to sleep.” She turns on her heel and grabs the doorknob.

“Thank you, Miss Dorothy,” Rex quietly says, and Dorothy only pauses long enough to nod. Clearly she wasn’t the only one concerned for Lucas.

She quickly strides through the corridors, drawing strange looks from the few others moving about because of her attire. She doesn’t care.

When she reaches West’s doors, she knocks purely out of courtesy to her hostess.

“Come in, Dorothy,” West bids. She has a curious look on her face, like she knows some good shit is about to go down.

“How dare you!” Dorothy walks towards Glinda and stands in front of her.

Glinda has the audacity to feign ignorance. “Whatever are you talking about?”

Dorothy’s eyes narrow. “You know  _damn well_ what I’m talking about,” she says. “He hasn’t slept in days…  maybe weeks.”

“Oh dear,” Glinda says, sipping her tea. “Is he suffering from insomnia?”

“The only thing he is suffering from is _your_ interference!”

Glinda sets her cup down with a clack. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“You _violated_ him!”

“I beg your pardon!”

“Damn right you should be begging my pardon, bitch. Keep your knobby old claws out of Lucas’ head,” Dorothy snaps.

Glinda stands. “Watch your tongue,  _girl,_ before I sever it from your head,” she threatens.

Dorothy’s eyes narrow. “You don’t scare me,” she says.

“Perhaps not. Especially because now it is clear that it is not _you_ I need to threaten to make my point,” Glinda says. Dorothy’s eyebrows rise, and Glinda realizes she’s just given herself away. “I…”

“Too late,” West mutters, chuckling into her teacup.

Dorothy steps closer to the Witch of the North. “Stay. Away. From him.”

“I shall do as I please,” Glinda replies, attempting to appear untroubled.

“Obviously. Even so. Neither of us have done anything to you. He did nothing to provoke you, and you attacked him every night, while he slept. Like a _coward._ ”

“He left me!” she yells, finally loses the careful grip on her composure.

“You left him to die with no memory of who he was!” Dorothy yells.

“He was _my—_ ”

“He is a person! He is not your property and never was!”

Glinda blinks once, then says, “Neither is he yours.”

“I never said he was. And I don’t treat him like he is,” Dorothy says.

“I have a pretty clear idea about how you treat him,” Glinda retorts.

“You have _no_ idea about how we treat one another,” Dorothy growls, stepping closer still.

This time, Glinda takes a step back.

“Keep your pointy nose out of our business. Find yourself another knight to keep under your thumb, and leave mine alone,” Dorothy continues. Her voice is quiet, but no less menacing.

“And where is your brave knight now, that his mistress must fight his battles for him?” Glinda asks. She has reined her composure back in, but just barely.

“Sleeping peacefully,” Dorothy snaps. “And if I see so much as _one_ blue spark or tendril anywhere near him again… I’ll tell Sylvie. Leith.” She pauses and adds, “Surely you know what she is capable of doing  by now, don’t you?”


	6. Chapter 6

Dorothy toes her shoes off and flops down on the sofa in her sitting room, exhausted. West is a surprisingly good teacher, especially when she’s sober, but she is relentless. Dorothy has kept up out of sheer stubbornness and pride, but she is always nearly completely spent by the end of the day.

Toto trots over to her and rests his furry muzzle on her thigh. She absently drops her hand and buries her fingers into his soft fur, scratching between his ears. He exhales, a doggy sigh of sympathy, and she rubs one of his ears.

“Yeah,” she agrees, though she doesn’t really know to what. “Where’s—”

Toto’s head suddenly perks up a second before a knock sounds at her door. He jogs to the door, tail wagging, looking back at Dorothy as she drags herself to open it. She knows it’s not Lucas on the other side, because he doesn’t knock. She also knows it is someone friendly, because Toto isn’t growling.

She opens the door to see one of West’s serving girls standing there.

“Excuse me, Mistress,” she says. “This message came for you.” She holds out a green envelope.

“Thank you…?”

“Galiana, Mistress,” the girl supplies.

“Thank you, Galiana. Do you know where Lucas is?” she asks.

“I believe he is still working to fortify the outer walls, Mistress,” Galiana answers.

“Oh, okay,” Dorothy replies. “Thank you.”

“Mistress,” Galiana replies, curtseys, and leaves.

Dorothy shuts the door as she turns, only to have it blocked by a strong hand. “Oh! Sorry,” she exclaims.

“It’s all right,” Lucas says, “you didn’t see me.” He leans down and kisses her forehead, then follows her over to the sofa. “What’s that?” he asks, removing his sword belt before sitting.

“A message,” she answers, pondering the envelope.

He pulls off his boots and looks on as she flips it over. “That’s the Wizard’s seal,” he declares.

“Yeah, I figured out that much,” she replies. “I don’t want to know what he wants.” Her first audience with the Wizard was brief but memorable. And not in a good way. She was left feeling confused, unfulfilled, and irritated. The man is clearly a fraud who has been getting by on a dangerous mixture of confidence, just enough intelligence, and dumb luck.

“I don’t blame you, but you had better see,” Lucas counsels. Dorothy sighs, hands him the envelope, and shifts so she is lying on the couch with her feet on his lap. He huffs a small chuckle, then breaks the seal. He reads, then says, “He wants to meet with you.”

“Ugh,” she groans. “Why?”

“Doesn’t say,” he answers. “Tomorrow morning, after breakfast,” he informs.

She holds her hand out and he places the letter in it. “He probably wants to see if I’ll kill Glinda for him again,” she says. She looks across at Lucas. “If I kill her, it won’t be for him, that’s for damn sure.”

He quietly laughs, his eyes dropping to his lap where her feet are resting. He takes a slender foot in his hand and begins massaging it, giving it the same thoughtful concentration he gives everything he does. When she sighs and he sees her eyes closed and lips smiling, a smile tugs at his own usually-frowning mouth.

“I’ll go with you,” he says at length.

“Thank you,” she replies. She had been thinking about asking him to come along; she really doesn’t want to go alone. She tells him so.

“I know,” he responds.

xXx

Dorothy drags her feet the next morning, trying to delay the inevitable. She dawdles in the bath, then lingers in her robe for another 30 minutes, eating breakfast in her rooms with Lucas, who isn’t looking forward to their appointment later that morning either.

“Miss, are you ready to dress?” Lia hesitantly asks once they’ve finished eating.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Dorothy answers, shoving herself to her feet. She walks towards the bedroom, followed by Lia.

“Is something wrong, Miss?” Lia asks once they are alone. She tried not to notice how little conversation there was over breakfast – not that Lucas is a big talker – but it was unavoidable. Fearing a rift between her mistress and her consort, she waited to ask privately.

“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Dorothy answers. “One of the gowns today,” she adds.

Lia says nothing, but is very confused. “Yes, Miss,” she replies, putting away the comfortable trousers and blouse she had withdrawn from the wardrobe. “Do you have a preference?”

“Something that will make me look scarier than I am. Confident. Imposing,” Dorothy says. “The Wizard has requested my presence.”

“Oh…” Suddenly everything makes sense. Lia has only seen the Wizard a few times, from a distance, and she is quite content with that.

“I don’t know what he wants,” Dorothy says, answering her maid’s un-asked question.

“I can’t say I envy you,” Lia quietly replies, digging in, looking as though she is searching for a specific dress. “Ah. I think this will do.” She withdraws a [beautiful red gown with gold trim](http://www.dhresource.com/albu_889862294_00-1.0x0/2015-hot-discount-red-gold-beaded-burgundy.jpg).

Dorothy barely looks at it, but nods and lets the girl help her into it. It is red satin with a swath of gold at her waist that extends upward on either sides of her breasts into two points at her collarbones, giving the impression of a vest. There is more gold detail on the back and the bottom half has has a split over-skirt edged in gold.

“You look beautiful, Miss,” Lia says as Dorothy sits. She begins to style her hair into an attractive, twisted up-do, leaving some curled tendrils loose.

Dorothy finally notices her appearance. “Thank you, Lia. This dress is perfect.” After finding the right shoes, she walks back out to the sitting room where Lucas is waiting.

“Dorothy…” he gasps, openly gaping at her. “You look…”

She smiles and takes his arm. “I guess we’re off to see the Wizard,” she says, sighs, and heads for the door.

 

xXx

Their walk through the city is interesting. People immediately get out of their way (without being asked), and _everyone_ notices them.

Unaccustomed to such attention, Dorothy whispers to Lucas, “Everyone is staring.”

“Of course they are. You are a Cardinal Witch,” he replies, ushering her towards the Wizard’s palace.

“Not yet I’m not,” she counters.

“They don’t know that.” He pauses a second, then adds in a low voice, “You also look unbelievably gorgeous in that dress.”

She stops, looks up at him, smiles, then continues walking.

They walk a little further and encounter a gate and two guards.

“The Wizard is expecting me,” Dorothy says, expecting to get some sort of resistance. To her surprise, the guard opens the gate without a word. He does stare pretty hard at Lucas though. “You know him?” she quietly asks while the second one leads them inside.

“From my previous life,” he answers. “I recognize most of the guards we’ve seen.”

“Do you miss it?” she asks.

“Well, I never truly was a Wizard’s Guard. Glinda snatched me up while I was still a cadet,” he says.

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” she replies, frowning.

He looks down at her, his soulful eyes soft as he gazes at her. “But even so, I don’t miss anything about my life… before,” he says.

She knows he means “before I met you”, and gives his arm a fond squeeze before they ascend a flight of stairs.

They climb for what seems like an eternity before they reach the top and a door.

“Wait here,” the guard says. He knocks three times, then enters.

Dorothy gives Lucas a questioning look, and he shrugs, as confused as she.

A minute later, the guard returns. “You may enter,” he says. Dorothy and Lucas start forward, but the guard stops Lucas. “Just the witch.”

“I’m not going without him,” Dorothy says, stepping towards the guard.

“The Wizard stated—”

Lucas knocks the guard’s hand aside. “I wouldn’t cross her, Nial,” he says, having spotted the glint of gold shining on Dorothy’s hands.

“He goes where I go, or I. Don’t. Go,” Dorothy emphatically says. There is no way she is going in to see that pompous, manipulative windbag alone. She may be new here, but she’s not _that_ new. And she’s not stupid either.

Nial sees Dorothy’s twitching hands, glimmering with the gauntlets of the Witch of the East, Most Merciful and Stern. Not wishing to gamble on which of these two qualities she possesses in greater measure, he steps aside and lets them both enter.

“Ah, Dorothy, it is good to see—” The Wizard’s prepared speech and carefully contrived light tone abruptly stops.

“If you thought I’d come alone, you were mistaken,” she says. Lucas is close behind her, standing straight and tall, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword in a manner that appears casual. At first glance.

The Wizard’s face tightens almost imperceptibly for a split second. “I understand your wish to keep your bodyguard close at hand, especially considering you still are not yet a full Cardinal Witch,” he says. “Please, sit.” He gestures to a bench that is just big enough for both of them.

Dorothy ignores his barb and gracefully sits on the bench. Lucas pointedly remains standing.

“Tea?” the Wizard offers, indicating a tea service on a small side table.

“No, thank you,” she declines. “Why did you want to see me?” she asks, deciding to get to the point. She doesn’t want to waste time on empty pleasantries, especially because this is time she is taking away from her training.

The Wizard chuckles. “Pragmatic, just like your mother,” he says. “I have something to show you.”

“What?” she asks, unable to imagine anything he has that would interest her.

“It’s through here,” he says. “Come.”

She stands again and follows him to another door. He opens it and walks through first, ostensibly to show her that it is safe. Still, Lucas places a gentle hand on her arm and looks through the door before allowing her to pass.

“What is this?” she asks. There is a large chamber in the middle of the immense space, and some sort of control panel beside it.

“This is your ticket home,” he declares, grandly gesturing at the chamber. “It is a cyclone chamber. It can trap the storm and send you back where you belong.”

Dorothy tilts her head at him. “Didn’t you say ‘You’ve come home’ to me when we first met?” she asks.

He blinks. “Did I? Well, just because you were born somewhere doesn’t necessarily mean it is ‘home’,” he hastily says. “Take me, for example. Oz is my home, but I wasn’t born here.”

Dorothy can feel the tension radiating off of Lucas behind her; she knows he has a pretty accurate bullshit detector and would probably think nothing of running the Wizard through if she said the word. Unfortunately, the Wizard has done nothing more egregious this morning than being a bit of a dick.

“How do I know it will send me back to Kansas?” she asks.

“Honestly, you don’t,” he answers. “But it has sent _other_ people back there.”

“Karen,” Dorothy quietly guesses.

The Wizard nods. “I’m offering you a chance to return home,” he says, attempting to appear benevolent. “Back to everything you know and hold dear.”

Dorothy walks over to the chamber, contemplating it. _It would be nice to go home. See Em and Henry again._ She turns around and sees Lucas watching her, keeping his expression carefully neutral, but not neutral enough for her. _He’s wrong though. Everything I hold dear is not in Kansas. Not anymore._ “What’s in it for you, Frank?” she suddenly wheels around and asks, calling the Wizard by his original name just to needle him.

To his credit, he only looks annoyed for a fleeting moment. “Just wishing to help a fellow countryman,” he says, but he doesn’t sound as convincing as he previously did. “You want to go home; I have a means to send you there.”

“If you think I believe this is simply an act of charity, you’re mistaken,” Dorothy answers. “No. You benefit from my leaving in some way.” She moves to stand beside Lucas. “That in and of itself is reason enough for me to stay,” she sharply says.

He bristles. “I won’t offer again,” he says. “It’s now or never.”

“Not one of Elvis’ better songs,” she retorts. “We’ll be going now.” She takes Lucas’ arm and they walk to the door.

“You will regret this decision!” he blusters, scurrying after them, but they have already reached the outer doors.

xXx

Lucas is strangely quiet during the entire walk back to West’s palace. Dorothy notices, but says nothing, knowing he’ll talk when he is ready, and even if he is ready now, he won’t until they are alone.

She slides her hand down his forearm to thread her fingers through his, and they silently walk, hand in hand, until they are home.

 _Home._ It is a word to which Dorothy never gave much thought before she crashed here. After she arrived, it became her central preoccupation, but now, she is becoming more and more certain that “home” is more of a concept than a place.

Lia and Rex are waiting for them when they return, bearing news of official matters needing their attention. Lucas is whisked away to deal with some possible intruders, only able to meet Dorothy’s gaze across the room before she disappears to change clothes.

West was impatiently waiting for her when she finally arrived, and demanded to know all the details of Dorothy’s meeting with the Wizard. Dorothy was relieved when West seemed to approve of how she handled herself, both with the Wizard and while walking through town, but the shadow of concern about Lucas still hung over her head.

Thankfully, she managed to focus her unrest into her training, and quickly grew so absorbed into her work that the afternoon passed rather quickly.

“I don’t expect to see you at dinner,” West comments when they are finished.

“Hmm?” Dorothy asks, puzzled.

“Tip, have dinner for Mistress Dorothy and her consort sent to their quarters,” she says, and Tip nods before hurrying away.

The mention of Lucas brought Dorothy’s mind back into focus, reminding her of matters still needing resolution. “Right,” she says. “How did you…?”

West chuckles. “You haven’t had a moment alone to talk to each other since you returned, and your man clearly needs some kind of reassurance,” she says.

“Maybe,” Dorothy allows. _Maybe he wanted me to leave._

“I may know a thing or two about how men think and behave,” West presses, stopping. “Or have you forgotten what this place is?” she asks, gesturing around them.

Dorothy snorts. “As if I could forget,” she replies, watching as a scantily-clad young woman appears, absently dropping a curtsey as she scurries past them.

“Reassure him all night long if you need to,” West saucily remarks, then strides away.

Dorothy makes her way back to her room to find not only Lucas but dinner waiting for her.

“That was fast,” she says, and Lucas’ head sharply turns. He had been gazing out the large glass balcony doors over the city.

“Hmm?” he asks.

“Dinner. I wasn’t expecting it to be here already,” she explains. “How… how were the intruders?”

He half shrugs. “Little more than children,” he says. “Curiosity can be a dangerous drug.”

She sighs and sits to kick her shoes off. “Yeah,” she agrees. She notices he is still fully clothed, sword belt and boots and all, and says, “Did you just get back?”

“Arrived just before you,” he says, furrowing his brows. She gestures towards his waist in explanation, and he looks down. “Oh,” he softly exclaims and begins removing the belt, knowing she prefers him unencumbered by weaponry when they are alone. He withdraws a dagger from a side holster before bending down to yank his boots off. “Long day,” he rumbles.

“No kidding,” she agrees, knowing then that he definitely has something on his mind. She rises and walks over to stand behind him. “Come and eat,” she softly says, reaching up to peel the coat from his broad shoulders.

“That’s not your job,” he murmurs, almost smiling as he looks down over his shoulder at her.

“Oh come on, you know I do whatever the hell I want,” she says, tossing his coat aside. She places her hands on his sides, guiding him to the table.

His face does crack into a very small smile at her remark, but then he says, “I know it all too well,” and all the humor is gone from his demeanor.

They sit, and she still resists the urge to ask him. _He’ll talk when he’s ready._

Once they both have some food and drink in their bellies – neither of them had lunch – he finally asks the question.

“Why didn’t you go?”

His voice is so soft she isn’t sure she’s heard him correctly. “What?” she asks.

“Why didn’t you go? Back to Kansas,” he repeats. “I remember what you told the Wizard, and I know you were holding something back.”

She nods, then takes a drink of her wine. “I was,” she confirms. “I… I don’t trust him. And because I don’t trust him, he doesn’t get to know everything that’s going on in my head.”

He looks at her for a long moment, then asks, “Do you trust me?”

“You are the _only_ person I trust, Lucas,” she answers with no hesitation. “You and Toto,” she adds, and the dog lifts his head at the sound of his name, then sets it back down with a sigh. “I… I have a feeling I’m needed here,” she presses on before he has to ask again. “I’m not sure why, but I think I need to be here. At least for a while longer.”

He nods, poking his fork around on his plate.

“And the Wizard was wrong,” she says, looking at him.

“About?”

She drops her gaze to her plate. “About everything I hold dear being in Kansas. That’s not true. Not anymore,” she says, then quickly takes a bite of food. When she lifts her eyes again, the soft, open expression on his silent, staring face makes her forget to breathe. She also feels a warm fluttering low in her belly that has nothing to do with the food in front of her.

He opens his mouth to speak, then closes it again. Then he reaches for his glass and takes a drink before saying, “I’m… glad you stayed.”

“I’m glad you’re glad,” she dumbly answers, setting her fork down. She leans back in her chair, watching him finish eating and deciding if she should ask him what she wants to ask.

“What is it?” he asks, dabbing his lips with his napkin.

Her eyes flit to his lips, then back up to his eyes, watching her, waiting for her to say something. “When… _if_ I do go back to Kansas… will… will you come with me?” she asks, her voice quiet.

Lucas immediately stands, walks around the small table, and lifts her to her feet. Without a word, he drops his head and kisses her with such passion it makes her head swim.

“Is that a yes?” Dorothy manages to gasp between hungry kisses.

He bends his knees and picks her up, his arms around her waist. She wraps her arms and legs around him, hanging on as he walks to the bedroom, kicking the door closed behind them before pressing her against it and kissing her once more. “Yes,” he rumbles, then sets her down only long enough for them to hastily yank the rest of their clothes off. Then he picks her up again and carries her to an empty wall, bracing her back against it.

“Why?” she asks while she can still think.

Her question catches him off guard, and he stops, pulling his lips from her neck. He looks at her for a moment, then leans his forehead against hers and closes his eyes. “I… I love you, Dorothy,” he confesses. “The only place I want to be is by your side… and if the only way I can remain with you is to go to Kansas, then so be it.”

“Oh, God,” Dorothy exhales, not really knowing why she is surprised. She can see it in his eyes every time he looks at her, but hearing him actually speak the words makes her feel like she has shattered into a million pieces that only he can put back together.

He kisses her then, stealing any further words she might have said. She clings to him, holding on, one hand sliding into his hair. He shifts her hips, seating himself within her suddenly and deeply, and she grunts into his mouth.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, but keeps thrusting, unrelenting as he somehow turns the act of fucking her against a wall into making love. Desperate, needy, hungry, but definitively _love_.

“Noit’sfine.” She slurs the words together, digging her nails into his scalp, his shoulder as she gasps and moans, heedless of her shoulder blades digging into the hard wall behind her, heedless of the burning in her thigh muscles from clamping around his waist, heedless of anything but the pleasure and love between them.

Lucas groans, burying his face in her neck, and she cries out her release a split second before he stills, his muscular body a coiled spring as he surges into her.

A few seconds later, he relaxes and she slumps in his arms. She absently notices the glimmer of the gauntlets on her hands for a split second before they disappear once more.

“I love you, too,” she whispers in his ear.


	7. Chapter 7

“Mistress West.” A harried-looking guard bows, anxiously standing in the doorway of the dining hall where she is having breakfast with Dorothy and Lucas, attended by Tip.

“What is it?” she snaps.

“Your presence is requested at the palace,” he says. “The Wizard… he…”

“He what?”

“We don’t know. He’s unconscious,” he answers.

West’s eyebrows rise, interested. “Is he now?”

“He can’t be roused, Mistress,” he replies. “Please, can you come at once?”

She sighs, takes a leisurely sip of tea, then nods.

“I’m coming too,” Dorothy says, standing.

“Oh, I don’t—”

“Best not to argue, Eamonn,” Lucas quietly says as he stands. “Besides, you’re going to want her along. She has healing skills.”

“Magic?” Eamonn asks, automatically suspicious.

“I was a nurse – a kind of healer – in my previous life,” Dorothy explains as they walk out. “No magic.”

“Very well,” Eamonn allows, as though he still had a choice in the matter.

Lucas snorts a small laugh, then takes Dorothy’s hand as they exit the building.

When they reach the gates, they find business being conducted as usual. Either no one knows the Wizard is incapacitated or everyone is putting forth a front to protect him.

“This way,” Eamonn leads them to the Wizard’s private quarters. The same rooms in which Dorothy first met him, listening to Pink Floyd.

This time, they are met with silence and the body of the Wizard lying on his bed. He looks unsettlingly pale and waxy, with a yellowish tinge.

“Is this how you found him?” Dorothy is the first to speak.

Eamonn clears his throat. “No… Mistress,” he hesitantly answers, not completely sure how he should address her.

_He’s clearly dead. They shouldn’t have moved him._ She walks closer. “How was he found?” she asks, looking around. She sees a telltale stain on the rug beside the bed, along with a length of what appears to be a thick silk or satin cord. On the bedside table is a jar of some sort of cream or ointment, and he is wearing a bathrobe that looks like it has been hastily tugged into place. Pieces of the puzzle start sliding into place before Eamonn even says anything.

“He was on the floor, Mistress,” Eamonn says. “I was not the one who found him, it was… his manservant.”

“Can you go get him?” Dorothy says.

“He’s in no state right now,” he answers. “Can you… I mean, is he…?” he nods towards the wizard.

“Yeah no, he’s very dead,” Dorothy answers. She reaches down and lifts the Wizard’s arm. It is rather stiff, but not completely. “Has been for some time.”

“How can you tell that?” West asks, stepping forward. She almost steps in the stain, but pulls up short just in time, making a face. “Oh…”

“When a person dies, the body gets stiff. It takes several hours for it to completely set in,” Dorothy explains. “But first, the bowels let loose, which is what you almost stepped in there.” She looks up at Eamonn. “He was here, on the floor?” He nods. “With this cord around his neck?”

He nods again, flushing slightly.  “ How do you know that?” Lucas asks.

“I think the great Wizard was having himself some kinky alone time and went a little overboard,” she answers. “The clues point towards auto-erotic asphyxiation.” The others give her blank looks. She sighs in exasperation. “He was strangling himself while jerking it and accidentally killed himself,” she bluntly says.

Lucas’ eyes widen. Eamonn looks slightly green. West starts laughing behind her hand.

“You’ve seen this before then?” Eamonn asks.

“Not first-hand, but it happens,” Dorothy answers. She bends down and tries to get a look at the Wizard’s neck. She doesn’t really want to touch his stiff, clammy flesh, but she pushes some of it aside. “Yep. There are still marks on his neck from the cord.”

West leans down. “Yep,” she echoes. “I’ve heard of people doing this sort of thing, obviously. And he’s not the first person in Oz who has died from it. He’s simply the most prominent.”

Dorothy turns away from the Wizard’s body and looks at the cord. She picks it up. “Was this attached to anything? Besides him, I mean,” she asks Eamonn.

“Bedpost, I believe,” he answers. “Colvin probably untied it.”

“Colvin?” Dorothy asks.

“His manservant. Little more than a boy,” he explains.

“We need to talk to him,” Dorothy presses, moving towards Eamonn.

“No, we don’t,” West steps forward, arms crossed. “We know what happened. He’s dead. We don’t need all the details; what we need is to figure out what to do next.”

“But—”

“She’s right, Dorothy,” Lucas quietly says from his place hovering in the background, leaning against a wardrobe. “No point in further upsetting the boy. You know what happened.”

Dorothy briefly looks betrayed, not enjoying having  _her_ consort side against her. But she takes a deep breath, then releases it, nodding.  _They’re right. Move on._ “Fine. What do we do now?”

“Well, that depends,” West drawls, walking around the bed, looking down at the Wizard’s body. “I assume you _don’t_ want this,” she gestures at the scene before them, “getting out to the people.” Eamonn shakes his head. “So. We need to come up with a plausible story to put forth as the truth so as not to traumatize the kiddies with the… scandalous and, quite frankly, embarrassing _actual_ truth.”

“He was attacked,” Eamonn immediately says.

“By whom?” Lucas counters. “And that makes his guards look bad.”

“I got in with no trouble,” Dorothy points out. Eamonn sharply looks at her. “I did,” she adds with a shrug. “But Lucas is right. That’s too complicated and it could have unwanted consequences. We’re not looking to start fights.”

“You know about these things, Dorothy,” Lucas says. “What is something that can kill instantly and without warning? Something that doesn’t involve weapons or violence.”

“Heart attack,” she immediately says. “Or an aneurysm.”

“Aneurysm?” Eamonn asks.

“It’s like… one of the veins in your head bursts. Can happen to anyone at any time,” she explains. “Heart attack would work for him, though, with that physique,” she absently adds.

“Heart attack,” West declares. “It’s definitely believable.” She takes one last look at the Wizard, says, “At least he’s not wearing that ridiculous wig,” and goes to the door. She opens it and says to the guard posted there, “The Wizard has died in the night. He had an attack of the heart and passed away with dignity. There will be a procession in his honor tomorrow, followed by a period of mourning throughout the kingdom.”

“Yes, Mistress,” the guard nods. West gives him a pointed look, and he bows, then leaves to go alert the Wizard’s advisors.

West closes the door and walks back. The other three stare at her. “I’m the only one of us who can tell a believable lie,” she explains. “Get rid of the evidence,” she commands, looking at Eamonn. “The rug, too. Anything that could be considered… questionable.”

“Yes, Mistress,” he immediately answers, but looks less than thrilled. “What about—”

“We will deal with the body,” West interjects.

“Thank you,” Eamonn says.

She nods, then goes to the window. She conjures a ball of blue light, whispers to it, then sends it out the window. “Lucas,” she says, turning towards him.

Lucas straightens up. “Yes?”

“Some of my girls will be coming. Please go and meet them.” When Lucas glances at Dorothy, West explains, “They know you and trust you. Dorothy and I need to remain here.”

“Of course,” he replies with a nod. His eyes still flicker towards Dorothy for a moment before he heads out.

Eamonn gathers the ointment, cord, and rug, rather gingerly holding the last item by a corner. “I’ll do a complete sweep of the room when I return,” he says.

“Explain the new truth to the manservant,” West orders, remembering there is one more person who knows what happened. Eamonn nods, then exits.

Once they are alone, West slumps onto a chair, laughing with abandon.

“How long have you been holding that in?” Dorothy asks. She doesn’t really see the humor in the Wizard’s death, but understands how West might. 

“Since I saw the rope,” she answers, leaning back and looking up at her sister witch. “I figured out what happened the same time you did actually.” She looks at the body, growing stiffer by the minute. “The Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz… can’t even have a wank without accidentally killing himself…” She laughs again, almost a giggle, then looks at Dorothy. “Honestly. I could have sent discreet company to him if he needed… release. If he wanted to be strangled, one of my girls could have done it without killing him.”

“It is a pretty humiliating way to go, especially for a man in a position of such authority,” Dorothy says. She does agree with the _nature_ of West’s words, but not the spirit. She didn’t much like the Wizard either, but her previous life as a nurse makes it rather difficult for her to find amusement in someone’s death.

“Humiliating… just what he deserves,” West says, her smile turning to a scowl. “Oh, if the good citizens of Oz could only know…” she trails off, reaching over to pick up something from a small table. “What on earth is this?” she asks, holding it up.

It’s the yellow Walkman. Dorothy walks over and takes it from her. “It’s a device to play music,” she says. “An old one.”

“How do you know that?” West asks, narrowing her eyes at Dorothy.

Dorothy presses the  _Play_ button. “Steely Dan? Really?” she  mutters , then says, “He’s from the same place I am. His real name is Frank. He… he knew my mother.”

“Turn that noise off,” West snaps, and Dorothy happily complies. “So that’s why he was interested in you.”

“Yes,” Dorothy confirms. “He offered to send me back a few weeks ago. I declined.”

To her surprise, West looks at her a long moment before saying, “Good.”

xXx

They return home some hours later, tired, but grateful to be back. All the preparations are in place for the Wizard’s memorial. Glinda appeared shortly after West’s servants arrived, demanding explanations. West smoothly told her the public story without batting an eye.

Dorothy understood exactly why Glinda was not told the actual story.

The question of leadership arose, and it was decided that the witches would hold temporary governance of Oz until a permanent solution could be found.

Of course Glinda seemed to be hoping that their “temporary” rule will become a permanent situation. She’s the only one of the three who does; West doesn’t care and Dorothy doesn’t want it.

“Lunch,” West groans. Dorothy and Lucas mumble their agreement and return to the table they left that morning.

Tip is waiting for them, and they are grateful to see the food already set out. As he leans over to pour her tea, West sees something she’s never noticed before.

“Tip?” she asks.

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Where did you get that?” She points to an ornate dagger on Tip’s belt. “I don’t recall seeing it on your person before.”

“Oh… I decided to carry it with me today… there are rumors that the Wizard has been killed, so I thought I should have something to protect myself in case there are bandits around,” he haltingly explains.

“First, the Wizard wasn’t killed. He… died in his sleep. We think. In any case, no one killed him,” West says, glancing across the table at Dorothy, who is keeping her head bowed over her plate. “Second, _where did you get that dagger_?” she emphatically repeats her first question.

“It’s mine,” Tip answers. “I mean… I’ve always had it. For as long as I can remember.” He unsheathes it and holds it like it is something precious.

“That has the crest of King Pastoria on it,” West remarks, pointing.

“Does it? Who was he?” he asks, looking at the crest.

West stares at him, studying his features as though she is trying to piece together a puzzle. “He was the King of Oz, murdered by the Wizard’s guards. That dagger,” she nods at the weapon in Tip’s hands, “was a gift to his infant daughter, Princess Ozma.”

Tip carefully closes her fingers around the blade and holds it to her chest. “What?” she whispers.

“Tip,” West says, her voice more gentle than anyone in the room has ever heard it, “you are the rightful queen. The true queen of Oz. _You_ are Ozma.”

“No!” Tip immediately yells. “My name is Tip and I’m a _boy_ , not a… princess or a queen.”

“Tip, when we first met you, you were a boy. The witch who was keeping you… she was giving you some sort of… medicine, right?” Dorothy asks. Tip nods. “And when you escaped, what happened?”

“I ran. With Jack,” Tip quietly answers. “We went to sleep, and when I woke up I was like _this_ ,” he adds, unhappily poking one of his breasts.

“Because you didn’t have that medicine. The potion that was hiding your true identity,” Dorothy says. “I mean, I’m guessing here, but doesn’t that sound about right?” she asks, looking at West. The other witch nods.

“You were being hidden because the Wizard would have killed you,” Lucas reasons. “He would be looking for a girl, not a boy.”

“I was never let out of the house anyway,” Tip complains. “So why go through the trouble of making me think I’m a boy? All it has done is mess with my head! I don’t know what I’m supposed to be anymore!” His voice steadily rises as he grows more upset.

“You are supposed to rule Oz,” West says. “It doesn’t matter if you’re queen or king. You are the rightful ruler.”

Tip doesn’t look comforted by her words. In fact, he looks more scared. “Tip, where I come from there are people who find they simply don’t feel right in the body they have. Sometimes people with male bodies feel like they are really women, sometimes people with female bodies feel like they are really men. Sometimes people feel like they are neither. Or how they feel changes from time to time. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with any of it,” Dorothy says.

“There are people like that here too,” West says. “Have you met Jade?” Dorothy nods, remembering the tall, pretty young woman. “She has male parts, but is undeniably a woman.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that!” Dorothy replies.

“She appeals to a very specific clientele, obviously,” West casually says. “In any case, Tip… Ozma. Please know that I – we – fully support however you wish to identify yourself. We can even arrange to turn you back into a boy if you’d like, but I think, initially, you should remain a girl. The people know there was a princess, but they think she was killed along with her parents, so it might be a bit difficult to convince them.”

“And it will be impossible if I am a boy,” Tip finishes, understanding.

“Exactly,” West says. Then she sighs. “I shall have to find a new personal assistant now.”

“You can’t have mine,” Dorothy immediately says. She has grown to really like Lia, and Lia has been very happy to serve her, especially now that they have both been outfitted with casual, comfortable clothes. Simple trousers and shirts that are still attractive but not as cumbersome as dresses or gowns. Clothing for which Glinda could not hide her disdain when she first saw Dorothy wearing it (which only made Dorothy like it more). And the fact that Dorothy made good on her promise to make sure Lia was outfitted to her liking earned her the girl’s total devotion and loyalty.

“Yes, I expect I would have to pry her away from you kicking and screaming,” West drawls. “I do need something fetched though.”

“I will do it,” Lucas says.

“You can’t. I need one of the girls, as the items in question are in my private library.” She gives Lucas a level look. “No men allowed.”

“I will find someone,” Tip says, sheathing her dagger. “Unless you just want me to go…”

“No, I need to talk to you some more. Fetch me Olivia,” West decides.

“Yes, Mistress,” Tip says, then leaves.

“What item?” Dorothy asks.

“A painting,” West simply answers.

“A painting?” Dorothy echoes.

“You will see,” West reassures her. “At least I hope so.”

A minute later, Tip returns with Olivia. West motions the girl over, whispers something in her ear, and sends her out.

“Let’s move to my salon,” West proposes, standing.

Once settled in West’s private sitting room, she turns to Tip. “Ozma,” she says, and Tip makes a face. “You’re going to have to get used to it. It is what the people will be calling you.”

“I know,” Tip – now Ozma – replies, but he doesn’t look too happy about it. “It’s just… strange.”

“We will have to get you some new clothes… fix your hair. Make you _look_ the part,” West muses.

“But I still won’t know what I’m doing,” Ozma protests.

“Generally speaking, people, as a group, are pretty stupid,” Dorothy interjects. “If you look good and speak with conviction, no one will really care about your actual words.” At the stunned looks from the other three, she adds, “Look at the Wizard.”

“Good point,” West concurs.

“But I still can’t—”

“We’ll help you,” West reassures her, glancing over at Dorothy, who nods.

They are interrupted by a quiet knock on the door, which Lucas answers. Olivia walks in with a large, flat parcel.

“Thank you, Olivia. You are to be my personal assistant now,” West informs her.

Olivia glances at Ozma, puzzled, but curtseys and says, “Thank you, Mistress.”

“Uncover the painting,” West says. Olivia hurries to comply, obviously still stunned by her promotion and eager to prove her worth. She unwraps the painting and sets it up on an empty chair.

When she steps away, there is a collective gasp. It is a painting of the late king and queen, holding an infant. The baby is too young to be identifiable, but it is quite clear that the woman in the picture is Ozma’s mother.

“She looks like me.” Ozma is the first to break the silence, standing and moving to kneel directly in front of the painting.

“No, _you_ look like _her,_ ” West corrects. “Those are your parents. Clearly.”

“You have your father’s eyes though,” Dorothy observes. “You look mostly like your mother, but your eyes…”

Ozma nods, noting her mother’s round, light eyes versus her father’s more angled, deep brown eyes.

Everyone is silent for a long moment, until Lucas breaks the silence.

“Glinda is not going to be happy about this.”

“Let me worry about Glinda,” West says, sounding almost happy about getting to break the news to her sister that their reign will be short indeed.

“Gladly,” Dorothy replies.

West sends Olivia for the seamstress, and tells Dorothy and Lucas they don’t need to hang about any longer if they have things needing tending.

They really don’t, but leave anyway, just because they can.

xXx

“This has been a weird day,” Dorothy says once they are alone.

“Mmm,” Lucas agrees, sinking down beside her on the sofa. Toto trots over to them and he absently drops his hand atop the dog’s head, sinking his fingers into the thick fur and rubbing.

“We need to do something mindless,” she says. When he stops petting the dog and raises an eyebrow at her, she chuckles and says, “Not _that_. Well, not right now.”

“What did you have in mind?” he asks.

She pushes herself to her feet and walks over to Toto’s bed, where she picks a worn-looking ball out of a basket beside it. “Come on,” she says to both Lucas and the dog.

They go through a back door and into a large garden. It’s currently empty, so it’s perfect for giving Toto some exercise.

“You want it?” she asks, showing him the ball. “Go get it!” She throws it and Toto takes off, running after it.

“This is what you wanted to do?” Lucas asks.

“Thought we could use a little fresh air,” she explains. “Put it down,” she tells the dog, pointing at the ground. When she bends down to reach for it, he moves to take the ball back again. “No… you wait.” He backs off and lets her pick it up. “Go!” she says, throwing the ball again.

Lucas simply watches her, enjoying how the sun makes her hair shine, how the simple pleasure of playing with the dog brings an easy smile to her face. He doesn’t get to see her completely relaxed like this, and it is a rare treat. The only other time she is this at ease is when they are alone, in bed together.

The thought brings forth a stirring in his groin that he resolutely puts aside until later. “Can I try?” he asks, holding his hand out for the ball.

“Sure,” she says, plopping it in his outstretched palm. She is curious; Lucas has never really shown much interest in any form of recreation or play. _This should be interesting._

“Ready?” he asks, the dog, twirling the ball between his fingers. “Go!”

Toto takes off, gets about five yards, then abruptly stops, turning his head back, a look of betrayal on his doggy face.

Lucas lifts his hand, the ball still in it. Toto barks, bouncing on his front feet.

“All right, I’m sorry,” Lucas says, then throws it for real. It soars nearly twice the distance of Dorothy’s throws. He looks over and sees her staring at him. “What?”

“I… I just wasn’t expecting that,” she says. “The fake-out, I mean.”

He simply shrugs, the ghost of a smile on his face. “I had a dog when I was a boy,” he quietly admits.

“You did?” she asks. He’s never spoken of his childhood.

“Well, it wasn’t really _my_ dog… it was just a dog that kept coming around when I was a young cadet.  We played with him sometimes,” he clarifies. “Drop it,” he tells Toto, who has returned. Toto holds the ball. “Put it down,” he tries, using the words Dorothy used. The dog slowly drops it, and when Lucas reaches for it, he snaps it back up again.

“He doesn’t trust you now,” Dorothy laughs. “Toto… put it down,” she says, and he drops the ball again. “Now wait.” Lucas quickly snags the ball and throws it without any preamble. Toto dashes after it.

They play fetch for a while, taking turns throwing. At one point Dorothy mentions wishing they had a frisbee, which resulted in her having to explain what a frisbee is to Lucas, and him declaring it sounded ridiculous.

When Toto stops with his ball halfway back, pees, then lies down in the grass, they decide he’s done and head back in.


	8. Chapter 8

“What is it?” Dorothy asks, noting Lucas’ demeanor over dinner, which is even quieter than usual. Something is on his mind.

He looks up, almost says “Nothing,” but then remembers this is  _Dorothy,_ and he knows she won’t believe him even if she doesn’t see through his lie. Which she will. “I’ve been thinking about something,” he quietly says.

“Oh?” She puts her fork down, dabs her face with her napkin, then drops it on her plate. “Will you tell me?”

He smiles, a rare sight. One of the things he loves about her is that she never forces him to do or say anything. She never demands; she always asks. The problem he is having is that he doesn’t know exactly how to broach the thing on his mind. “I can try.”

She nods. “Is it bigger than a breadbox?” she asks, smiling a little.

“What?”

“Never mind,” she replies, chuckling as she waves her hand. “Should I… should I be worried?”

“No!” he immediately answers. “No, not at all. It’s not really anything that serious, if you can believe it,” he admits.

“All right.”

He exhales heavily. “I would like to get you something. A… a token.”

“A token?” she repeats, angling her head at him.

“I don’t know how it is done where you come from, but here, when two people… love each other,” he starts, his gaze dropping for a moment. Despite the fact that they’ve confessed their feelings, he is still a little shy of saying it. He regroups and continues. “And they are committed to one another… as we are… they wear rings as a token of their relationship.”

“Wedding rings,” Dorothy quietly says. “We do the same thing where I’m from.” She knows she’s technically from _here,_ but as she’s lived most of her life in Kansas, she still considers that to be where she’s “from”. “ Usually there’s a ceremony and reception, but I guess we’ve already done something… similar.”

“Oh,” Lucas replies, brightening a little now that he knows he won’t have to explain. Then, another concern hits him. “Do you… do you think of us as married?”

She presses her lips together. “Do you?” she sheepishly asks.  _Dummy; of course he does. That’s why he wants to get rings!_ “I mean yes. Yes, I do. I… I kind of have ever since the morning after the, um, Sanctification, when Glinda said you were stuck with me.”

“So have I.” His answer is soft but succinct. “But I want other people to know that I belong to someone. That I belong to _you._ ”

Dorothy stands on slightly shaky legs. She walks around the table and he scoots his chair back enough to allow her in. She sits on his lap and kisses him, lightly burrowing her fingers into his beard. “Thank you,” she whispers, leaning her forehead against his.

“You’re welcome, but I’m not exactly sure why you’re thanking me,” he replies.

“For being thoughtful. For loving me. For… for being you, I guess,” she explains, and he smiles. She pecks his lips and asks, “Is there a… a merchant or shop or someplace we can go tomorrow?”

“For rings?” he asks, just to make sure. She nods. “No. Well, I mean, there is, but since you’re a Cardinal Witch, you don’t go to the shops. They come to you,” he explains.

“What?”

“A jeweler will come here with his wares, and if you don’t see something you like, you can either send for another one or commission him make something special,” he says. “Um, Glinda used to do it all the time,” he reluctantly adds, knowing that won’t make her happy.

“Of course she did. But that doesn’t mean _I_ have to—”

“Dorothy.” His quiet voice stops her. “That’s exactly what it means. This is just how things are done. Ask Lia; she’ll tell you.”

Dorothy frowns. “Fine. But I don’t want the jeweler that Glinda likes,” she acquiesces.

Lucas chuckles. “Of course not,” he says, kissing her forehead. “I’ll ask Rex to find someone. He seems to know everybody.”

xXx

“Mmm, right there,” Dorothy groans, closing her eyes. “Damn, your hands are so strong.”

Lucas merely chuckles, pressing his thumbs into the arch of her foot. He can feel a small knot in there and knows it must have been bothering her quite a bit for her to ask for him to rub it.

She opens her eyes and watches him, sitting at the end of the bed, her slender  tan  foot in his strong pale hands, his blue-gray eyes fixed on his task. Sometimes she looks at him and can’t believe he’s hers. Can’t believe he still wanted her after he recovered his memory. Can’t believe he didn’t already  _have_ someone.  _I’m sure Glinda didn’t allow it_ , she reasons.  _But he clearly has experience with women…_

“Lucas?” she asks, and he turns his face towards hers. “How is it you didn’t already have a girlfriend? You know… before?”

“Girlfriend? You mean…?”

“Special someone. Lover,” she says. “I was just thinking that I was a little surprised that when you got your memory back, you didn’t remember that you were already married or something.”

He moves his attention to her other foot. “Why was that surprising?” he asks, his lips twitching a little.

She thinks he’s trying to hide a smile, so she says, “Because you’re clearly disgusting,” and pokes his thigh with the big toe of her free foot. “Awful personality. Terrible lover. Terrible fighter. Completely untrustworthy.” She shrugs. “Nope. Can’t think of a single redeeming or attractive qualit—EE!” She shrieks as he suddenly tightens his grip on her ankle and tickles her foot. “Stop!” she gasps.

A second later, she finds herself pinned to the bed and being soundly kissed. “You were saying?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.

Dorothy’s body temperature spikes and hot moisture pools in her center. “Don’t act like you weren’t fishing for compliments,” she manages, but her voice is breathy, betraying her arousal.

Lucas hungrily kisses her again, her hands pinned on either side of her head. “What about you?” he murmurs between kisses. “No boyfriends back in Kansas?”

“Not really,” she answers. “There was a guy, but it was an occasional, casual thing. Wasn’t serious.”

He lifts his head. “Did he know that?”

“Huh?”

“I can’t imagine how any man could be ‘casual’ about you,” he softly explains. “How someone could have you and be able to let you go.” He lightly sucks at her neck until she whimpers, then whispers, “I can never get enough of you.”

“Dios mío, you don’t say much, but when you do…” she gasps, her fingers clutching his hands as she writhes a little.

He grunts a reply, then slides lower, releasing her hands. He kisses a path down her still-clothed body, pausing to unbutton her pants before hooking his long fingers into them and yanking them down her legs, dragging her underwear with.

She reaches for the hem of her shirt, intending to pull it up over her head, but his hand on her stomach presses her back down onto the bed before she can remove it.

He is moving so swiftly and she is already so turned on that she is only vaguely aware of him settling between her thighs. It’s only when she feels his tongue slick through her folds that she realizes what is happening.

“Oh!” she exclaims, her body undulating in response. Her hand flops down, her fingers tangling into his short hair, encouraging him as he swirls and thrusts his tongue.

Lucas slides one hand up under Dorothy’s shirt and closes it over her breast. His thumb sweeps across her nipple and a string of breathy Spanish comes tumbling from her lips. He pauses, listening for a second, then shrugs and continues, circling his tongue around her clit.

He removes his hand from her breast to hold her hip as he slips two fingers of his other hand inside her, slowly pumping in and out in time with his mouth. She hums appreciatively in response, one hand still in his hair, the other clutching the sheets.

Suddenly, she gasps, her body jerking, and her legs squeeze his head. He can feel her inner walls contracting around his fingers, and he keeps them there a few seconds longer, lifting his head once she relaxes her legs. He turns and kisses her thigh, then slowly withdraws his hand.

“Lucas,” she says, tugging his hair. “Come up here.”

He does as he is bidden, crawling up over her, then dropping a small kiss on her lips. “What was that you were saying?” he asks, kissing her closed eyelids, nose, then trailing down her cheek to her jaw.

“Hmm?”

“I couldn’t understand you. Was it magic?”

Dorothy starts giggling. “No. It was Spanish. It’s just another language. My father’s family speaks it,” she explains, not really feeling like going into the details of geography and immigration and preserving culture right now. “I’m actually surprised you haven’t heard me lapse into it before.”

“Oh. It’s very musical,” Lucas says, brushing her hair away from her neck so he can kiss it.

“Yes, I suppose it is,” she agrees. His hand is under her shirt again, and she sits up to take it off. She reaches for his while they are paused, and he quickly disposes of it and the rest of his clothes. Then he returns to the task at hand, which seems to be kissing as much of her as possible.

When her hand slips down between them and wraps around his cock, he groans and decides her plan is better.

xXx

The next day, Rex comes through for them, escorting a jeweler to Dorothy’s quarters shortly before lunch. He is a tall, dark-skinned man laden with two large cases.

“Mistress East, Sir Lucas, may I present Sumayl, the finest jeweler in Oz,” Rex introduces.

“Pleased to meet you, Sumayl,” Dorothy greets. “Thank you for coming.”

“I am honored to have been summoned, Mistress. Your servant flatters me,” he replies with a bow.

“I hope not,” she answers with a smile. “Please,” she gestures to a table, and she and Lucas sit while the jeweler sets up his wares.

“It is my understanding you are looking for a ring,” Sumayl says while he arranges his things. “Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Dorothy answers. “Two rings. One for each of us.”

He turns around and carefully schools the look of surprise off of his face. “Very good,” he says. Apparently Rex was not terribly clear about their request.

“Are you… suitably supplied?” she asks.

Sumayl cannot help but smile at how she tactfully calls him out. He clears his throat. “Luckily, I am,” he answers. “Would you like me to show you specific samples, or would you care to peruse?”

“I would like to peruse,” she replies, standing. Lucas follows suit, hovering behind her.

“This case will hold more of the styles in keeping with your needs, Mistress,” Sumayl recommends, indicating one of them. Then he steps back and lets them look, trying not to interfere. He knows exactly which rings _he_ would choose for the lovely new Witch of the East and her consort, but as he was not asked, he keeps his mouth closed and waits.

When Dorothy immediately zeros in on the rings he was hoping they’d choose, he audibly exhales.

“What do you think of these?” she asks Lucas, giving a smiling glance to Sumayl over his shoulder.

“Nice and flat; won’t get in my way. And the red stones are nice,” Lucas answers, taking one ring from her. He tries it on. “Too small though,” he declares; it won’t slide over his second knuckle.

“That is easily remedied,” Sumayl volunteers. “The rings are black gold with rubies. A perfect choice for the Most Merciful and Stern Mistress of the East.”

Dorothy still hasn’t gotten used to all the pageantry and formality of her position, and bites back the urge to tell the friendly jeweler to call her by her given name. She tries on the matching ring, which features a round ruby set between two split rows of smaller rubies, similar to how Lucas’ ring is set, also in black gold. She chuckles as she says, “It’s a little too big, but I really like it.”

“May I?” Sumayl steps forward, his hand outstretched. Dorothy can see his fingertips are stained black, but she knows it is not from poppies like West’s fingers. His fingers are stained from working with the metal of his jewelry. She places her hand atop his. “It suits you very well, Mistress. You have such slender, delicate fingers,” he declares. “But strong. The hands of a woman who is no stranger to hard work.”

“I used to be a nurse. A healer,” she explains. “Back in my old home.”

“Ah, yes,” he says with a nod. “Noble but often thankless work, that,” he adds, patting her hand before releasing it.

Dorothy smiles and nods, deciding she likes this  man .

“Have you decided then?” he asks.

Dorothy looks at Lucas, and sees him staring at the ring, inspecting it closely. He looks at her and nods.

“Yes,” she answers. “That was easy.”

“When something is right, one often knows quickly,” Sumayl says in an offhanded way as he turns to retrieve an item from a drawer in the other case.

“Yes,” Lucas agrees, looking squarely at Dorothy. She smiles and looks down at the ring on her hand.

The jeweler holds up a large loop with several smaller loops, like plain rings, attached. “If you will allow me to measure your fingers, I will resize these rings for you and deliver them back to you before the end of the day.”

“Oh, there’s no need to rush,” Dorothy says, removing the ring and returning it to him. “I won’t have you beheaded or anything if we don’t get them until tomorrow.”

“Th-thank you, Mistress,” Sumayl says, a little thrown.

“You weren’t expecting me to be nice,” she replies, half-smiling as she holds her hand out for him to size her finger. When he looks up in surprise, she adds, “It’s all right. I honestly have no idea what kind of reputation I’ve earned here, but I suppose killing the former Witch of the East – even if it _was_ in self-defense – will have people drawing all kinds of conclusions.”

The jeweler clears his throat and moves on to measure Lucas’ finger. “I do try not to take stock in gossip,” he tactfully says, writing down the sizes on a small pad of paper. He begins packing up his things and adds, “I honestly did not know what to expect, but I am not disappointed.”

“Neither am I. Thank you, Sumayl,” Dorothy says.

[ https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1FVJLKFXXXXbkXVXXq6xXFXXXo/2pcs-Red-Sapphire-Fashion-Engagement-Ring-Ruby-Rings-Black-Gold-Filled-Rings-For-Women-and-Men.jpg ](https://ae01.alicdn.com/kf/HTB1FVJLKFXXXXbkXVXXq6xXFXXXo/2pcs-Red-Sapphire-Fashion-Engagement-Ring-Ruby-Rings-Black-Gold-Filled-Rings-For-Women-and-Men.jpg)

xXx

“Really.” Glinda’s response the next day to the news that Tip is really not-dead Princess Ozma is not nearly as entertaining as Dorothy had hoped. A cold smile crosses the Witch of the North’s face that does not reach her eyes. “How wonderful,” she says.

“You don’t believe me,” Mistress West says, angling her head at her sister.

“Oh, I believe you,” Glinda says, walking in a slow circle around Ozma, who has been bathed and dressed in accordance with her station. He – _she_ – looks beautiful and regal, and is doing a remarkably good job maintaining her composure under Glinda’s scrutiny. “It simply seems a trifle convenient, don’t you think? The Wizard dies, and suddenly this urchin has King Pastoria’s dagger?”

West heavily exhales. “I already explained that to you,” she says, growing exasperated. “She always had t he dagger . She only  decided to start  carrying  it because—”

“Because of the rumors about the Wizard being attacked, yes, yes,” Glinda interjects with a dismissive wave. “Mistress East,” she says, suddenly whirling to look at Dorothy. “What do you make of this?”

“I think Ti—Ozma will make a very good queen. She knows what it’s like to have to struggle to survive, knows what suffering is, unlike someone who was raised to be a pampered princess in an ivory tower,” Dorothy answers, refusing to be cowed by Glinda. “She understands the common man and will be a champion for her people.”

Glinda’s face is tight. “Quite.” She turns back to West. “When do you plan on… unleashing the Rightful Queen of Oz onto the good people of the kingdom?”

“The day after the Wizard’s funeral,” West answers. “And I expect you to be there and show your loyalty to the queen.”

“But of course,” Glinda sweetly answers.

“May I say something, or do you want to continue talking about me like I’m not here?” Ozma suddenly says, her voice much stronger than any of them were expecting.

“Of course, my queen,” West immediately answers.

“I don’t want to be queen,” she says, holding up her hand as West opens her mouth to protest. “I have no idea what to do, how to act, what to say… but…” she pauses, looking down at the dagger clutched in her hands, “If I _am_ the princess everyone thinks is dead… I… I owe it to my family… to my parents’ memories to do this. They died because the Wizard had them killed. Now the Wizard is dead too.” She sighs. “And one day, I’ll be dead. So will all of you.  The least I can do is try to make something of the time I have.” She looks at each of them in turn, then says, “I don’t want this, but I’ll do it. But I’ll need help.”

“Of course,” West and Dorothy immediately reply.

Glinda nods and smiles sweetly. “Certainly, Child.”

“Oh, so she’s not an urchin anymore?” Dorothy snaps, looking at Glinda. West snorts.

“Don’t start with me, girl, or—”

“Shut. _Up_ ,” Ozma exasperatedly says, looking mainly at Glinda. “Keep your squabbles between yourselves. I’m sick of listening to them,” she scolds, as though she’s been holding her tongue for a while about this. She squares her shoulders, straightens her back, and says, “As my advisors, I expect you to conduct yourselves in a manner in keeping with your station.”

West smiles as she looks at her prot é g é , knowing the new ruler of Oz will do just fine.


	9. Chapter 9

“People of Oz,” Glinda announces, addressing the throng gathered below. “The unexpected death of our great Wizard has been a shock to our nation.” She pauses, waiting for the murmurings to die away before continuing. “However, tragedy often yields surprising fruit.”

“She does know how to spin a tale, you gotta give her that,” Dorothy murmurs. West snorts a quiet laugh, and Lucas even feigns clearing his throat behind his hand to cover his amusement.

They watch while Glinda extends an arm to the side, welcoming Ozma forward. There are surprised noises from the crowd; a few people have figured out who she is simply by looking for her.

“When our good king and queen were killed, it was assumed their daughter also perished. As it turns out, she has merely been in hiding, secreted away, out of the reach of the Wizard. I – we – can say with all surety that Princess Ozma lives, and is standing here before you,” Glinda says. She nods at Ozma, and the girl holds up the dagger, showing it to the people.

There are more mutterings and more than a few gasps as people crane their necks to try to get a better look at the dagger.

“I give you… your queen!” Glinda proclaims, and, for a moment, even Dorothy is convinced that the Witch of the North is completely supportive and in favor of this transfer of power.

The applause is slow to build, but once it does, it is like an avalanche of sound, a rolling crescendo culminating in cheers and whistles.

Ozma lowers the dagger and lifts her chin. The crowd quiets down. “I… was not raised to be a queen,” she begins. Dorothy and West can  _feel_ the panic radiating off of Glinda, as this is not the speech the young queen had practiced. “I was raised to be a good person. To know right from wrong. To help others in need of help,” she says. The crowd is rapt, and Glinda slowly relaxes. “And I can only hope to rule with these values.” She looks down at herself, then at the crowd. “Despite all… this,” she continues, indicating her appearance, “I still consider myself to be one of you. I have been where you are, and I promise you I will not forget that.” There are some cheers and applause from the people, and she smiles slightly. “I will make mistakes. But I hope that I will be a queen of whom you can be proud, if not today, then one day.”

As more cheering rises up, Dorothy leans over to West and says, “She seems to be a natural at this.”

West nods, a small smile on her face, clearly not surprised. “I can see the makings of greatness about her,” she comments. “Oz will do well under her reign.”

Ozma lifts her hand in farewell, then heads inside with the witches following.

“What about that Beast?” Dorothy quietly asks West. “That Beast Forever thing?” The looming threat hasn’t come up in a few weeks. Dorothy isn’t even sure what made her think of it.

“The Beast is dead,” West says.

“What?” Dorothy asks, touching West’s arm to stop her. Glinda and Ozma continue on to the throne room, which is undergoing renovations along with the rest of what was once the Wizard’s palace.

“The Beast Forever died of a heart attack in his sleep. Officially,” Lucas remarks.

West gives Lucas a surprised but impressed look. She hadn’t realized the knight was so astute because he so seldom speaks in her presence. Her lips curl into a crafty smile. “Quite,” she simply says, then turns on her heel.

“How did I miss that?” Dorothy asks Lucas. They are still standing in the corridor, alone.

“You have been very busy with your training,” he answers, reaching up to tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “Your mind has been occupied.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t feel kind of stupid for not figuring that out,” she replies with a sigh, stepping forward into his embrace. Since the corridor is deserted apart from them, he wraps his arms around her and kisses the top of her head.

“I won’t tell you when I put those pieces together then,” he murmurs, turning his face to rest his cheek atop her head.

“I appreciate that,” she says, chuckling into his chest. She lifts her head to look up at him and says, “But what about the last time the Beast terrorized Oz?”

He smiles. “The Beast is a legend. A myth. An… idea,” he explains. “The Wizard heard about it and decided to use it as a…”

“A weapon,” she says, stepping back to take his hand again and continue walking. “He used the threat of it to control the citizens.”

“Yes,” Lucas agrees, squeezing her hand. “Charisma in the wrong hands is a dangerous thing.”

Dorothy snorts a laugh, thinking of politics back home. Her  _other_ home. “It seems politicians are the same everywh—”

Her words are cut off by the sight of Leith running towards them at full speed. As soon as she sees them, she stretches her arms out, and Lucas immediately crouches down to catch her.

“Lucas! Dorothy!” Leith exclaims, her voice soft and breathy. Lucas hugs her and stands, then moves so the girl can hug Dorothy as well.

“What are you doing here?” Dorothy asks, kissing her forehead before holding her face in her hands, inspecting her for any signs of mistreatment. “I mean I’m really happy to see you, but—”

“I asked Mistress Glinda if I could come for the ceremony, and she said I could,” Leith answers. “And I’m fine. I like it there.”

“Ceremony? Do you mean the coronation?” Lucas asks, puzzled. They begin walking again, Lucas still carrying Leith.

“No. The _ceremony_ ,” Leith repeats. “Dorothy’s initiation.”

“My what?”

“Your initiation into being a Cardinal Witch,” she answers.

Dorothy looks at Lucas over the girl’s head, eyes wide. “Did you know anything about this?” she asks.

“Are you kidding? They tell me less than they tell you!” he answers.

Thankfully, they’re at the doors to the Council Chambers, so they’ll be able to get some answers. Dorothy pushes them open since Lucas’ arms are full.

“Ah, there you are,” West says. “I was afraid the two of you had decided to go home and… celebrate.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if you’d keep me informed about what’s going on around here, you wouldn’t have had to worry,” Dorothy says.

“What fun is that?” West replies. “I presume the girl has let the cat out of the bag then?”

“When were you planning on telling me?”

West merely shrugs. “The ceremony won’t be until after dinner.”

Dorothy gives up. “Fine. Is there anything else we need to do here?”

“Our young Queen will do fine on her own. For today,” Glinda answers. “We do not need to linger.”

“Good,” West declares, and Dorothy is inclined to agree. “Will you be joining us for dinner, Sister?”

“Yes, I think so,” Glinda replies, then holds her hand out for Leith.

“May I go with Dorothy and Lucas?” Leith asks.

Glinda’s jaw twitches and her already-thin lips draw even tighter, but she manages a soulless smile and says, “Of course, child. I know you have missed them.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” Leith responds, slipping one hand into Dorothy’s, the other into Lucas’.

“Toto will be happy to see you,” Dorothy says as they turn to leave.

“I’ve missed him,” Leith replies. “He’s nice and warm.”

xXx

Dorothy is bathed and dressed, again in a dress not of her choosing, but she is happy to discover that it is something she  _would_ have chosen, given the opportunity. It is a one-shouldered gown, the single strap studded with gold beads and filigree. The gold detail is repeated on the opposite side, wrapping around her ribcage. The dress is red, of course, but done in an ombr é effect so that the top is so dark it is nearly black and the bottom is true red.

“You look beautiful, Miss Dorothy,” Lia declares, positioning the final curl of Dorothy’s hair exactly where she wants it.

“Thank you. I do like this dress,” Dorothy agrees.

They stand and walk out into the main room to find Lucas and Rex waiting for them. Lucas is dressed in a similar fashion to how he was their first night here, but somehow finer. His shirt is silk; his vest better tailored. His boots are new.

“Each time I see you, I think that you cannot be more beautiful, and each time I am proven wrong,” he quietly says, stepping forward, one hand outstretched.

She takes his hand, then lifts up on tiptoe to kiss him. “Thank you. You look amazing,” she says, indulgently running her hand down his chest.

Leith comes bounding over, Toto on her heels. The large dog has not left the girl’s side since she entered their chambers. “I like your dress,” she says. Then she comes closer and whispers, “You’re prettier than Mistress Glinda. But don’t tell her I said that.”

Dorothy laughs, then leans down and lightly rubs her nose against Leith’s. “Our secret,” she says. Then she stands. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

“Are you nervous?” Lucas asks, offering his arm to Dorothy and taking Leith’s hand in the other.

“A bit. I don’t know what this initiation entails, I still don’t completely trust West, and I don’t trust Glinda at all,” she answers.

“I won’t let them harm you,” he replies.

She squeezes his arm. “I love your enthusiasm, but I don’t know that you’ll be able to help if they use magic against me,” she says.

“I know,” he answers. “But know that I will try, even if it costs me my life.”

Dorothy is dumbstruck. She knows Lucas is devoted to her, loves her, but she’s still not used to his ride-or-die attitude towards her. None of her friends (such as they were) in Kansas were that loyal, that selfless. In truth, neither was she. But she knows deep in her soul that she would step in front of any sword or bullet or blast of magic aimed at him.

Suddenly, she stops and releases his arm. Turning towards him, she cups his face in her hands, feeling the familiar scruff of his short beard under her palms for a moment before lifting up on tiptoe and kissing him.

“I love you,” she whispers. “No matter what happens in there, remember that.”

“I love you, too,” he replies, his eyes soft. A light tug on his hand reminds him that Leith is standing there. He clears his throat. “Oh. Excuse us,” he apologizes to the girl.

Leith simply smiles and the three of them continue on to the hall where West and Glinda are waiting.

Lucas opens the door for Dorothy and Leith, then follows them inside.

“Mistress East,” West greets with a nod.

“Not yet,” Glinda snaps, but West just rolls her eyes.

“Shall we begin?” West asks.

Dorothy nods and steps forward.

“You will be given three tasks,” Glinda explains, her entire demeanor disdainful. It dawns on Dorothy that the Witch of the North clearly expects her to fail. “If you are unable to complete even one of these tasks to our satisfaction, you will fail.”

“What happens if I fail?” Dorothy asks, keeping her expression carefully neutral.

“You will be cast out of Oz,” Glinda answers. “Or you might die, depending on which task fails.”

“Fantastic,” Dorothy flatly replies. “So what’s first?”

Glinda smirks. “So eager.” She steps forward. “We must go to the fortress of the Witch of the East.” Then she disappears in a flurry of white.

Dorothy’s brow furrows.

“That’s your first task,” the other witch explains. “The fortress is to be yours, you know. Bring your consort as well.” Then there is a flash, a cloud of green, and she is gone.

“What about— oh.” Leith is gone before Dorothy can finish the question about the young witchling. She take a deep breath and turns to face Lucas. “If the kid can do it, so can I, right?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but… you _have_ done this before, right?” he asks.

“Yes, but not for such a long distance,” she answers. _I hope I remember where the fortress is._ She wisely keeps that thought to herself, especially because she isn’t entirely sure she needs to know the precise location of her intended destination. The intent may be enough. “And by myself.”

“I can stay here,” he says, but he doesn’t look happy about it.

“No, West said I should bring you, so it might be required,” she responds. “Plus I need you there.” She moves closer to him and raises her hands, willing the gauntlets to appear. She can easily summon them now.

She puts her arms around his waist, and he obligingly wraps his long, strong arms around her. It settles her and helps her to focus.

“Go,” he whispers. “I trust you.”

She closes her eyes, and, with a surprisingly gentle push of will, they disappear in a swirl of red smoke.

After a few seconds of feeling like they are without bodies, they feel solid stone under their feet. Dorothy opens her eyes and can tell by the look of shock on Glinda’s face that they succeeded.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” Lucas comments, stepping away from Dorothy.

“Yeah, it kind of feels like getting turned inside out, doesn’t it?” she agrees.

“I must say I am impressed you managed to drag him along with you,” Glinda assesses. “That was unexpected.”

Dorothy then knows that West was helping her by telling her to bring Lucas.  _Extra credit._ She doesn’t dare risk a glance at the other witch though. The least she can do is repay her by not giving her away. “I didn’t want to do this without him here.”

“Good,” Glinda curtly answers. Before Dorothy has a chance to wonder why Glinda is pleased Lucas is here, she says, “Your next task is to settle the weather.”

Dorothy takes a deep breath. She has been down this road before, and failed. Of course, then she was winging it, going on instinct. Now that she has been trained, she should succeed.  _I hope._ She glances at Lucas, and he gives her a reassuring nod.

They walk to the storm chamber and Dorothy finds it is the same as she remembered. The floor a swirling mass of clouds or… or something, she isn’t exactly sure what it is. All she knows is it isn’t really a floor, and not everyone can walk across it to the small pedestal in the center.

_I know I can do this part._

She steps out and walks across the nebulous floor and reaches the platform. She doesn’t need to look at Glinda to know she was expecting her to mess it up. But she’s pretty sure Glinda doesn’t know she’s been here before.

Dorothy looks up into the vortex swirling over her head. She lowers her head and meets Lucas’ gaze across the sea of mist. He gives her a small nod of encouragement. She raises her arms, says a few words in the Witch’s Tongue, and then she is gone.


	10. Chapter 10

“Dorothy!”

Dorothy’s head snaps up. It’s a voice she hasn’t heard in God only knows how long. “Aunt Em?” she says, picking herself up off of the ground.

She’s in Kansas.

“Shit,” she mutters, then turns towards her Aunt. “Hi?”

Aunt Em runs the few feet to where Dorothy is standing, still in her red gown, and throws her arms around her niece. “We thought you were gone… lost to the storm,” she says, tightly embracing her. When she finally lets go, she finally notices Dorothy’s attire. “What on earth…?”

“Um, yeah. That’s the thing. I’m not sure ‘earth’ is exactly where I’ve been,” she blurts. “I’m not crazy.”

Em’s expression immediately changes. “I know you’re not,” she answers, tugging her towards the house, where they sit on the porch. “Did you see your mother?” she asks at length.

“What? How…” She stares. “You know. You know everything, don’t you?”

Em nods. “Your mother was my friend. When the others came back without her and their half-assed explanations…” she sighs. “I made them tell me. Made them give you to me. She and Roberto would have wanted you to be raised by family.”

Dorothy nods. “I was born there,” she says, even though her aunt already knows.

“You’re going back, aren’t you?” Em says, asking but not asking.

“I have to. I’ve… I’m…”

“You have someone there.”

“Yes. I have someone and I _am_ someone there. I’m… _more_ there,” Dorothy explains. “Apparently I’m a witch.”

“I always knew you were special,” Em responds, taking the news a lot better than Dorothy expected. “And I’m sorry we lied to you. It’s… not something you can just bring up in conversation.”

Dorothy chuckles. “I forgive you. And I get it. I mean, what would you say? ‘Please pass the ketchup and oh, by the way, you were born in an alternate universe’?”

Em laughs with her niece, then reaches over and places her hand over Dorothy’s, her fingers catching the ring. “Is he handsome?”

“Yes. You’d like him. He’s… quiet, but smart. Thoughtful. Loyal,” Dorothy answers.

“Sounds like quite a story,” Em observes.

“It is,” Dorothy agrees, then sighs. “But I don’t have time. I have to get back. I’m… in the middle of a test right now, and I’m not sure exactly how I wound up here, but I need to get back.” She stands.

“A test?” Em stands with her. “Wait, is there anything you need? Anything you want to take back there?”

Dorothy’s answer is immediate. “I would kill somebody for a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup.”

Em laughs. “I don’t think you need to go to that extreme,” she says, then hurries into the house. She returns a moment later with a bag. “Here.” She passes her niece the bag, then tightly hugs her. “I’m sorry you missed Henry, but I’ll tell him you were here.”

“Hopefully I’ll be able to visit again. When I have more time,” Dorothy replies. “Thanks for these,” she adds, holding the bag aloft as she walks out into the field. The clouds are still swirling overhead, and Dorothy hears the tornado siren begin to wail. “Let’s see if we can’t do something about that,” she mutters to herself.

Securing her bag so she doesn’t lose any of her precious cargo, she plants her feet and raises her arms again. She speaks a different incantation this time, and in seconds she is off.

This time she finds herself in a completely new place; a place that looks a bit like what a child might imagine heaven to be. She is standing in the clouds, and the sky above her is bright blue. She can see the sun on one side and the moons on the other.

_Moons. Plural. I’m in the right place._

_Now what?_

Dorothy walks until she finds the swirl of clouds. Operating on pure instinct, she steps into the center of the vortex.

She sinks slowly, descending through the funnel like she is circling a drain. She doesn’t panic. She _cannot_ panic. She is meant to _settle_ the weather, so she projects calmness out all around her. Peace. Tranquility.

She feels something solid under her feet, and her vision clears to reveal she is back in the storm chamber, only the storm is no more. The vortex is gone, replaced by blue sky and fluffy clouds.

She steps off of the platform and proceeds towards the others.

“You did it,” Glinda says, not bothering to hide her surprise.

“Disappointed?” Dorothy asks.

Glinda briefly tenses, then says, “What do you have there?”

“I wound up back home in Kansas at first. Picked up a few things,” Dorothy answers. Glinda doesn’t get to know about her peanut butter cups.

“And you didn’t stay there?” Glinda asks.

Dorothy keeps her gaze steady. “No.” Then she notices something. “Where’s Lucas?” He was there when she left.

“He is with Mistress West,” Glinda says, a very slight smile curving her thin lips. “They are waiting with your final challenge.”

xXx

Dorothy had no idea what was in store for her for the final challenge, but she was still not prepared for the devilry Glinda and West have devised.

She walks into a large hall, presumably East’s receiving chambers, to see Lucas strung up exactly how she originally found him. He isn’t coated in filth and blood this time, but he is shirtless and unconscious.

“What did you do to him?” Dorothy demands, storming in and dropping her bag just inside the doors. She glances at Leith, who is silent but looks rather unhappy.

“He consented,” West simply answers. “He truly will do absolutely _anything_ for you. How adorable.”

“Your task is to undo what has been done. If you can restore your consort to himself, then you are worthy of the title of Witch of the East. And if he survives, then he is worthy of you,” Glinda explains, completely ignoring Dorothy’s ire.

 _She’s really enjoying this,_ Dorothy notes, and in that instant, decides she will succeed because her triumphs seem to really irritate the Witch of the North. She squares her shoulders and begins to walk towards Lucas.

“You cannot touch him,” West’s voice stops her in her tracks.

“Shit,” Dorothy mutters, and wills the gauntlets – _her_ gauntlets – into action. She takes a moment, knowing she needs to be orderly about this. _Step one: Get him down._

That’s the easy part. She raises her hand and slowly lowers the wooden cross, pushing the unbidden, distracting thoughts about Good Friday and Passion Plays out of her head. The wood hits the stone floor with a dull _thud._ Lucas moans.

 _Step two: Free him_ . Dorothy steps closer and waves her hands, loosening and unwinding the thick vines holding him to the wood. _Not barbed wire this time, thank God._ She notices the vines seem to be growing from the wood of the cross, and actually lauds West on her ingenuity. Lucas’ arms slump off of the wooden crossbeam, and he lies there awkwardly.

 _Step three: Revive him._ She decides to move him to the floor first, so he can at least be sort of comfortable. She takes a deep breath and, with hands outstretched, raises his body and moves it to the floor.

Dorothy can hear West and Glinda whispering together behind her. She ignores them.

She closes her eyes, whispers a word, and when she opens them again she can see the green tendrils of West’s magic swirling around him. She can’t do what she did last time he was enchanted; she can’t jump into his head and snap him out of it.

_Or can I?_

The only problem is she doesn’t have the music to connect them. Still, she lies down beside him on the floor, her mind whirling, hoping their emotional bond, their love for each other, is strong enough for her to use.

_If only I had something of him on me… wait._

She lifts her left hand and sets in on her chest, then covers it with her right, making sure her ring is touching the skin of both her chest and her hand. She closes her eyes and concentrates on it. On _him._

“ _Dorothy.” His voice is faint, but she follows it._

“ _Lucas, I’m here,” she calls._

“ _Help… me…”_

_He sounds like he did when she met him, and she runs. She finds him still strapped to the wooden cross, on the road to Nimbo. He looks exactly like he did that day. Except for the web of green tendrils swirling around him._

_Dorothy realizes that, in his head, he is still strung up. She also realizes she can touch him here._

_She runs to him, reaching up to touch his legs. “I’m here,” she repeats._

_He opens his eyes and looks down at her. “Dorothy.”_

“ _Lucas. This isn’t real. You’re not up there, you’re free.”_

“ _Feels… real…”_

_She looks around and doesn’t see any way to lower the wooden cross. She needs to get to him, make him realize this isn’t real._

“ _Lucas… babe… listen to me. This is… like a dream. Like_ that _dream.”_

“ _What dream?”_

Shoot, he doesn’t remember that dream here. _“Never mind. Just trust me. You trust me, right?”_

“ _With my life.”_

“ _Then believe me when I tell you that this is not real.”_

“ _I… I do.”_

_Struck by inspiration, she wills her body to rise until she is eye level with him. She takes his face in her hands and kisses him, hoping it will do the trick again._

_He moans, but is still strung up._

Dummy. You’re supposed to use magic. Real magic.

_She sinks back down until she is standing again. With a whisper of some words, she raises her hands and pushes magic at him. Magic infused with all the love she has for him._

_She can see the red overtake the green. He groans and his body convulses. A moment later, everything goes black._

“Lucas?” Dorothy asks, sitting up and looking down at him. She holds her breath.

A moment later, his large body jerks like he’s just landed back into his skin, and his eyes blink open. He looks at her and gives her his small, shy smile.

“You okay?” she asks.

“I think so,” he answers. “A little…” his eyes drop to his lap, and Dorothy follows his gaze. He’s not erect, but a closer look at his flushed cheeks and dilated pupils tells her everything she needs to know.

“Oh. That might be my fault,” she replies.

“It always is,” he says, and she knows he’s fine.

“That was… interesting,” West says, stepping forward. Glinda is on her heels.

“What did you do?” she demands.

“Do I have to tell her?” Dorothy asks West, standing and helping Lucas to his feet. Leith runs over, his shirt and vest in her hand, and hands it to him. He puts his clothing back on, then takes her hand, comforted by her presence.

“Unfortunately, yes,” West answers.

“I went into his head,” Dorothy simply says.

“You shouldn’t be able to do that,” Glinda says, frowning. “Not without touching him or using some kind of conduit.”

Dorothy holds up her left hand. “I have one,” she says, and Glinda’s face sours.

“That’s very dangerous. For both of you,” West says.

“I did it before,” Dorothy says. “When _she_ was meddling with his dreams.”

“You could both lose your minds,” West cautions.

“Or get trapped there and die. Eventually,” Glinda adds. “Either way.” She shrugs.

Dorothy rolls her eyes. “You’re just bitter because you didn’t want me to pass,” she says.

“Who said you passed?” Glinda counters.

“I successfully completed all three tasks!” Dorothy says, her voice growing louder. “I pass!”

“Yes, you do,” West agrees, glaring at Glinda. “But do not think you are done training and learning.”

“Of course I’m not,” Dorothy agrees. “But I’ll just be living here now.”

“Yes,” West says.

“Our servants are coming with us,” Dorothy says. “Lia and Rex. They come with us.”

“You may have Rex, but not Lia,” West says.

“I wasn’t asking permission,” Dorothy insists. “I am bringing Lia.”

West actually smiles. “Very good, Dorothy,” she says, nodding her approval.

“Oh,” Dorothy quietly exclaims. _Must have been another test._

“We’re done here,” Glinda declares, waving Leith to her side.

She hugs Lucas, then Dorothy before complying.

“Stay strong,” Dorothy whispers to her.

“You too,” Leith replies, then hurries across to where Glinda is standing. She manages a small wave before they vanish.

xXx

Lia and Rex arrived with their things shortly after Glinda left, making Dorothy wonder if West had sent for them before she had completed her third task. She didn’t ask.

Both tired from the trials, they just had their servants drop their things in their new private quarters and sent them away to oversee the goings-on in the rest of the immense place.

Lucas, still pent up from being zapped with Dorothy’s magic, securely locks the door, then pounces.

“Mmm!” she exclaims, her fingers scrabbling for purchase, finally settling on the front of his shirt, hanging on for dear life as he leans over her.

“That was unfair of you,” he murmurs, almost a growl against her neck. Then he suddenly picks her up, throwing her over his shoulder.

“What was?” she asks, to stunned to even feel offended at his caveman-like behavior. In fact, she kind of likes it.

“You put a love spell on me, Witch,” he says, flopping her onto the bed, then rolling her over to get at the closure in the back of her dress. “Or a lust spell, at the very least.”

“That wasn’t the intent and you know it and don’t you dare rip this gown, I like this one!” she exclaims.

“So do I,” he counters. “But I’ll like it more…” he pulls the garment off, down over her legs, then drops it on a nearby chair, “over here.” Then he quickly whips his shirt and trousers off, having already divested himself of his vest and boots.

Dorothy laughs, but Lucas cuts her laughter off with a fiery kiss. Her hands slide up into his beard, then his close-cropped hair, and her leg twines around one of his.

He moves again, kissing a trail down her neck to her breasts, his hand questing lower until it encounters her underwear. He curses under his breath and tugs them down, nearly tearing them off in the process and earning him another admonishment.

He returns his lips to her breast, sucking a taut nipple into his mouth just as his fingers find their target. She is wet and hot, and he hums his appreciation, his fingers circling and stroking.

“What happened to ‘take your time, we have all night’?” she asks, half laughing, half gasping as his fingers continue their sweet torture.

“That was then. This is now,” he answers, moving up to lightly bite her neck right on the mark he gave her on their first night together.

She wraps her leg around his again and pulls it towards her, almost kicking him. “Come on then,” she goads.

Then she cries out loudly when he replaces his fingers with his cock, driving into her hard and fast.

He sets a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping into her while his lips devour hers. All she can do is hang on and enjoy the ride.

“Oh…” she gasps, “Yes… Ay, sí… Oh mi amor…”

Lucas leans back, grinning smugly, knowing that if she’s babbling in Spanish, he’s doing a good job. He leans further back, hooking his arms under her legs as he lifts up onto his knees.

Dorothy wordlessly cries out, her hands slamming down onto the bed to anchor herself while being mostly held aloft by Lucas.

He moves her left leg up to rest on his shoulder so he can reach down with his right hand to rub small circles at the apex of her thighs with his thumb.

She explodes in almost no time, climaxing with a shout that vaguely sounds like his name.

He follows an instant after her, as though he was just waiting for her. He stills for a few seconds as he floods into her, then slowly thrusts a few more times, drawing it out, until he collapses over her with a sigh.

“I love you,” she says, her hand coming up to rest on his head and gently stroke his hair.

“I love you, too,” he answers. “And I’m so proud of you. You did very well today.”

“Thank you,” she replies, bending her head down and kissing his forehead. Hearing him say those words means more to her than she can express, and she rapidly blinks, keeping the threatening tears at bay.

“Am I getting heavy?”

“Yes.”

He rolls off of her, and she cuddles into his side, where they lie in silence, watching the light change and the shadows grow longer as the sun sets.

“These are better rooms than the ones in West’s place,” Dorothy finally says, sitting up and looking around the room.

“Especially because they’re yours, not hers,” Lucas says.

“Ours,” she corrects, looking down at him. “Not mine. Ours.”

“Ours,” he echoes, smiling. He swings out of bed, grabs both their robes and hands hers to her. “Let’s get some fresh air,” he says.

She shrugs her robe on and they walk to a set of French doors leading out to a balcony. “Do you like this view better than the one in the city?” he asks, dropping her hand to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her.

“It’s just different,” she answers. “The city was interesting and busy. This is kind of desolate, but beautiful and peaceful.”

“I like this one better,” he says, resting his cheek on the top of her head. “I like the quiet. So much of my life has been loud. Noisy. People shouting, fighting, barking orders. This is better.”

“Yes,” she agrees. “The quiet… reminds me of Kansas.”

“Do you miss it very much?” he asks, gently turning her to face him.

“Sometimes,” she answers. “It was nice getting to see Em today, but…” she pauses, sighing. “It didn’t feel like _home_ anymore.”

“No?” he asks, trying to mask the hope in his voice so he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels. He knows she said she’d bring him with if she decided to return, but he feels he needs the reassurance right now after the long and trying day they’ve both had.

She lifts up on tiptoe and kisses him. “Do you remember what you said when we first met? When I… when I named you?”

He smiles. “I said, ‘Lucas is home.’”

“Yes,” she says. “He is.”


	11. Chapter 11

-Two Years Later-

“Are you sure she’ll be all right?” Lucas asks, looking down at the small bundle strapped to his chest. He reaches up with one large hand and gently strokes the soft black fuzz covering the rounded head of his sleeping daughter.

“That’s why she’s strapped to you and not me,” Dorothy answers, stepping closer. She drops her head and kisses the infant, then lifts her face to kiss her husband’s lips. “You always land on your feet. I still haven’t perfected my landings,” she adds with a chuckle.

“I told you—”

“Yes, yes, I know. But I still can’t let myself relax enough. It’s just too jarring,” she interjects.

They’ve visited Kansas twice since Dorothy’s test. The first time was to introduce Lucas to her aunt and uncle.  Then, o nce she was able to figure out how time works between the two worlds, she was able to calculate when Christmas wa s. S o the ir second trip to Kansas was so  Dorothy could  share her favorite holiday  with Lucas .

That was also when their daughter was conceived. Dorothy had intentionally stopped drinking the tea a short time before, after a discussion with Lucas that wound up lasting nearly two weeks.

Neither of them expected the effects of the tea to stop working so  _abruptly._

The following fall, Dorothy decided it was time to bring their daughter to meet her great aunt and uncle.

Lucas rolls his eyes. “Some Cardinal Witch you are,” he teases.

“Shut it, you,” she returns, then takes his hand. “Ready?”

He protectively wraps his free arm around the precious bundle swaddled to him. “Yes.”

Hand in hand, they walk across the nebulous floor of the storm chamber and onto the platform. A moment later, they are swept up.

A moment after that, they find themselves dropped behind her uncle’s barn in Kansas. Lucas lands on his feet, bending his knees to absorb the impact, still shielding his daughter with his right arm.

Dorothy lands on her feet but immediately tumbles, automatically tucking her body into itself, careful not to roll onto the bag she has with her.

“Shit,” she curses, flopping flat on her back to catch her breath.

“That was better. Perhaps next time,” Lucas indulgently pronounces, walking over to offer his hand.

“I’m surprised I didn’t twist my ankle, landing like that,” she grumbles, standing. She checks her daughter. “She didn’t even wake up.”

“Sleeps like you,” he chuckles. Having spent most of his life as a guard, always on the alert, Lucas is not a heavy sleeper. Dorothy, however, sleeps like the dead, likely because she knows her Lucas is always at the ready should something untoward happen.

“My aim is getting better,” she declares. Last time they were in the field; the time before that, across the street.

“Yes,” he agrees, looking up at the sky. “Good thing, too, because it looks like it’s going to rain any second.”

“Yeah, let’s get to the house.” She grabs his hand again and begins walking. “I hope they’re home. It would be nice if I could call ahead.”

“Still no luck with that, hmm?” he asks, knowing she’s been working with Jane to try and figure out some way to create a line of communication between the two worlds.

“Jane thinks she’s getting close. If she could devote more of her time to the project, we’d probably be there, but her duties to Ev take precedence,” Dorothy answers. They climb the steps to the porch, and she knocks just as the first drops of rain begin to fall.

“Your aunt told you not to knock,” Lucas quietly says, just before the door swings open.

“Dorothy!” Em exclaims. “Didn’t I tell you not to knock? This is still your home,” she adds, just before hugging her niece.

“I was just telling her that,” Lucas says, smiling a little.

“Of course you were, Lucas dear,” Em says, moving to give him a hug as well, but abruptly stopping when she sees he isn’t alone in his coat. Wide-eyed, she looks at the lump on his chest, then at Dorothy.

“Surprise,” Dorothy says with a smile.

Em’s hands come up over her mouth and her eyes well up with tears. “Come inside, come inside,” she says, her voice shaky as she all but shoves them into the house, eager to get her hands on the new little one.

Lucas sits and Dorothy carefully lifts their daughter out of her sling. “Aunt Em, this is Regan Emilia,” she says, softly shushing her squirming daughter before offering her to her aunt.

“Em… Emilia?” Em repeats, looking awed.

“She’s named for Lucas’ mother and you,” Dorothy confirms with a smile. “His mother died when he was a boy,” she quietly adds.

Em is entranced with little Regan, but looks up at Lucas and gives him a sympathetic smile before returning her attention to the baby. “She’s beautiful,” she finally says. “Open your eyes, little one, so I can see you.”

“She has Lucas’ blue eyes,” Dorothy says. “They’ve stayed blue so far.” As far as they have been able to tell, Regan heavily favors her mother, except for her eyes. She has her father’s eyes, and they already seem to take in as much as he does.

Em looks up. “That’s… amazing. She’s going to grow up to be quite striking then, with those heartbreaking eyes he has contrasting with this dark hair.” She turns her attention to Regan once more. “You are going to be the most beautiful girl in  _two_ worlds, yes you are,” she coos. “How old?”

“Two months,” Dorothy answers, just as Henry walks in. “Hey,” she looks up and greets, grinning as he stands and stares at his wife holding the infant.

“‘Hey?’ That’s all you have to say?” Henry replies, walking forward. He’s trying to be gruff, but he can’t keep his smile hidden.

“Um, her name is Regan Emilia?” Dorothy tries, grinning at him.

He snorts and walks over to Em.  “So I presume this is the reason we haven’t seen you in nearly a year?” he asks, scooping Regan out of his wife’s arms. He lifts her to his face an inhales deeply. “Oh yeah… that’s the stuff,” he says with a sigh.

“Baby smell. He’s got a weird obsession,” Em explains to a confused-looking Lucas.

“Yeah,” Dorothy says, chuckling at her uncle. “I didn’t want to risk traveling that way while pregnant.”

“And even if she had wanted to, I wouldn’t have let her,” Lucas chimes in.

Henry raises his eyebrow and kisses Regan on the cheek before passing her back to Em. “Right. ‘Wouldn’t have let her,’ he says. As if this one,” he nods at Dorothy, “doesn’t do exactly as she pleases 150% of the time.” He sits on his recliner.

Lucas and Em laugh while Dorothy lightly scowls, trying not to join in. Regan begins fussing, and her face turns dark red.

“Oh, I know what that look means,” Em says, passing her to her mother. “Someone is going to be needing a new diaper in about ten seconds.”

Dorothy takes Regan and moves to the floor to change her diaper, silently wishing she had access to disposable ones in Oz.  _Maybe I could bring some back with me… No. It would be too difficult._ _Plus there’s no way Lucas would be able to handle Wal-Mart without killing someone._

“Dorothy, she’s just beautiful,” Em repeats, looking down at the little one, who finally opens her eyes and looks up at her mother. “Oh… and you’re right. She does have Lucas’ eyes.”

“Will you be… sending her to…” Henry starts, almost afraid to ask. Dorothy has told her aunt and uncle a lot about Oz, including Glinda’s “school” for young witches.

“Over my dead body,” Dorothy says. “If she does have abilities—”

“Which is likely,” Lucas interjects.

“Which is likely,” Dorothy repeats with a nod, “She will become my apprentice, and eventually, the next Witch of the East.” She sets Regan on her tummy and places a few toys around her, watching over her as she squirms and makes halfhearted attempts to grab things.

“I still can’t get used to it,” Henry says, shaking his head. “She doesn’t like that,” he adds, nodding at Regan.

“It’s good for her. Strengthens her back,” Dorothy says. “How have you guys been?”

“Good. It’s still so quiet here,” Em answers. “People still ask about you; ask how you like Australia.” That was the agreed-upon story: Dorothy went to Australia, fell in love, and decided to stay there.

“I like it just fine, thanks,” she answers. “Things have really settled down in Oz, and I’m… I think I’m finally used to being seen as a respected authority figure there.”

“Good. Like I said: I always knew you were special,” Em replies.

“I can’t take it,” Henry says, then swoops down and picks up Regan. “Yes, yes, Uncle will rescue you,” he says to her, picking up a toy as well before settling back down in his recliner.

“Ridiculous,” Em says with an affectionate eye roll.

“Was he like that with me?” Dorothy asks.

“Exactly like that,” her aunt answers. “And how are you finding fatherhood?” she asks Lucas.

“It’s terrifying, but I wouldn’t trade it,” he answers.

“He’s an amazing father already; don’t let his humble manner fool you. He’s going to teach her how to defend herself and use a sword once she’s big enough, too,” Dorothy says.

“Good,” Em declares.

“I… I never thought my life would turn out this way,” Lucas quietly adds, looking down.

“Me neither, Babe,” Dorothy agrees with a chuckle, reaching over to place her hand on his knee.

He places his hand over hers and squeezes it. Then he looks up and snorts a small laugh.

The two women follow his gaze and sees Henry asleep in the recliner, little Regan out cold, a small bundle curled on his chest.

“Oh, I have to get a picture of this,” Em says, getting up to go get her phone.

Dorothy looks at Lucas, then lifts up on her knees and kisses him.

“You’re sure you don’t want to stay?” he asks, reaching up to stroke her cheek. He asks her every time they come back.

“I’m sure. I love my aunt and uncle, but I love you and Regan more. And this isn’t home anymore,” she answers, then kisses him once more.


End file.
